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DOUGLA 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

MABEL  R.  GILLIS 


I 


A   Little   Girl  in   Old   St.   Louis 


THE  "LITTLE  GIRL"  SERIES 


A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  NEW  YORK. 

HANNAH  ANN  ;   A  SEQUEL. 

A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  BOSTON. 

A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  PHILADELPHIA. 

A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  WASHINGTON. 

A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  NEW  ORLEANS. 

A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  DETROIT. 

A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS. 


BY 

AMANDA  M.   DOUGLAS 

AUTHOR   OF    "A   LITTLE   GIRL   IN   OLD    BOSTON,"   "A   LITTLE 

GIRL  IN  OLD  DETROIT,"    "  A   LITTLE  GIRL  IN   OLD 

WASHINGTON,"   ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD   &   COMPANY 
1903 


Copyright,  1903, 
By  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY. 


Published,  September,  1903. 


BURR  PRINTING   HOUSE, 
NEW  YORK. 


/=>$ 


Cities  that  have  grown  from  small  hamlets  seldom  keep  reg 
ister  of  their  earlier  days,  except  in  the  legends  handed  down 
in  families.  St.  Louis  has  the  curious  anomaly  of  beginning 
over  several  times.  For  the  earliest  knowledge  of  how  the 
little  town  looked  I  wish  to  express  my  obligations  for  some 
old  maps  and  historical  points  to  Mr.  Frederick  M.  Crunden, 
Public  Librarian,  Miss  Katharine  I.  Moody,  and  Colonel 
David  Murphy. 

A.  M.  DOUGLAS. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  REN£E  DE  LONGUEVILLE,       .       .       .       .       .        i 

II.    OLD  ST.  Louis, 14 

III.  A  NEW  HOME, 30 

IV.  THE  SOWING  OF  A  THORN, 44 

V.  WITH  A  TOUCH  OF  SORROW,  .       .       .       .       .60 

VI.    BY  THE  FIRESIDE, 74 

VII.    AT  THE  KING'S  BALL, 91 

VIII.    THE    SURPRISE, .105 

IX.    PRISONERS, .116 

X.    IN  THE  WILDERNESS, 138 

XI.  WAS  EVER  WELCOME  SWEETER?  ....    154 

XII.  HER    ANSWER,       .       .       s       .       .       .        .    169 

XIII.  PASSING  YEARS,     .......    181 

XIV.  AT   THE   BALL,      .       .       .       .       .       .       .    196 

XV.  GATHERING  THISTLES,   ......    215 

XVI.  THE  RISE  IN  THE  RIVER,    ...       .       .    230 

XVII.  RIVALS,    .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .    247 

XVIII.    A  FINE  ADJUSTMENT, 262 

XIX.  THIS  WAY  AND  THAT,  .       .       ...       .277 

XX.  WHEN  A  WOMAN  WILL,    .       .       .       .       .    293 

XXI.    FROM  ACROSS  THE  SEA, 307 

XXII.  A   NEW   ST.   Louis,     .       .       .       .       .       .    316 


A    LITTLE    GIRL    IN    OLD 
ST.  LOUIS 


CHAPTER  I. 

RENEE  DE  LONGUEVILLE. 

THE  bell  had  clanged  and  the  gates  of  the  stockade 
were  closed.  There  were  some  houses  on  the  outside ; 
there  was  not  so  much  fear  of  the  Indians  here,  for 
the  French  had  the  art  of  winning  them  into  friend 
ship.  Farms  were  cultivated,  and  the  rich  bottom 
lands  produced  fine  crops.  Small  as  the  town  was 
twenty  years  before  the  eighteenth  century  ended,  it 
was  the  headquarters  of  a  flourishing  trade.  The  wis 
dom  of  Pierre  Laclede  had  laid  the  foundation  of  a 
grand  city.  The  lead  mines  even  then  were  profitably 
worked,  and  supplied  a  large  tract  of  the  Mississippi 
River  east  and  west. 

Antoine  Freneau  stood  a  few  moments  in  the  door 
of  his  log  hut,  down  by  the  old  Mill  Creek,  listening 
with  his  hand  to  one  ear.  There  were  sounds  of 
spring  all  about,  but  he  was  not  heeding  them.  Then 
he  turned,  closed  the  door,  which  was  braced  on  the 
inner  side  with  some  rough  iron  bands;  fastened  it 
with  the  hook,  and  let  down  a  chain.  He  was  seldom 
troubled  with  unexpected  evening  visitors. 

The  log  hut  was  hidden  at  the  back  with  trees 
enough  to  form  a  sort  of  grove.  It  had  two  rooms. 


2  A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

This  at  the  front  was  a  sort  of  miscellaneous  store 
house.  Freneau  did  quite  a  trade  with  the  Indians 
and  the  boatmen  going  up  and  down  the  river.  There 
was  no  real  attempt  at  orderly  store-keeping.  Arti 
cles  were  in  heaps  and  piles.  One  had  almost  to 
stumble  over  them. 

The  back  room  was  larger.  There  was  a  stone 
chimney,  with  a  great  wide  fireplace,  where  Freneau 
was  cooking  supper.  In  the  far  corner  was  a  bed 
raised  on  sawed  rounds  of  logs,  with  skins  stretched 
over  the  framework,  on  which  was  a  sack  of  hay  with 
a  heap  of  Indian  blankets,  just  as  he  had  crawled  out 
of  it  in  the  morning.  A  table  and  three  stools  manu 
factured  by  himself ;  a  rude  sort  of  closet,  and  a  curious 
old  brass-bound  chest,  now  almost  black  with  age,  com 
pleted  the  furnishing.  The  puncheon  floor,  in  common 
use  at  that  time,  was  made  with  logs  split  in  the  middle 
and  the  rounding  side  laid  in  a  sort  of  clay  plaster  that 
hardened  and  made  it  very  durable.  The  top  would 
get  worn  smooth  presently.  The  walls  were  hung  with 
various  trophies  and  arms  of  different  kinds.  Two 
windows  had  battened  shutters ;  one  stood  a  little  way 
open,  and  this  was  on  the  creek  side. 

The  supper  had  a  savory  fragrance.  He  had  baked 
a  loaf  of  bread  on  a  heated  flat  stone,  spreading  the 
dough  out  thin  and  turning  it  two  or  three  times.  A 
dish  of  corn  stewed  with  salted  pork,  a  certain  kind 
of  coffee  compounded  of  roasted  grains  and  crushed 
in  the  hollow  of  a  stone,  gave  out  a  fragrance,  and  now 
he  was  broiling  some  venison  on  the  coals. 

There  were  sundry  whispers  about  the  old  man  as 
to  smuggling.  Once  his  place  had  been  searched,  he 
standing  by,  looking  on  and  jibing  the  men  so  engaged, 
turning  any  apparent  mystery  inside  out  for  them. 


RENEE    DE   LONGUEVILLE  3 

Then  he  would  be  gone  days  at  a  time,  but  his  house 
was  scurely  fastened.  Occasionally  he  had  taken 
longer  journeys,  and  once  he  had  brought  back  from 
New  Orleans  a  beautiful  young  wife,  who  died  when 
her  baby  girl  was  born.  The  nurse  had  taken  it  to 
her  home  in  Kaskaskia.  Then  it  had  been  sent  to  the 
Sisters'  School  at  New  Orleans.  She  had  been  home 
all  one  winter  and  had  her  share  in  the  merry  making. 
In  the  spring  her  father  took  her  to  Canada,  to  the 
great  disappointment  of  hosts  of  admirers.  At  Quebec 
she  was  married  and  went  to  France.  That  was  ten 
years  ago.  He  had  grown  queer  and  morose  since, 
and  turned  miserly. 

There  was  a  peremptory  thump  at  the  door,  and  An- 
toine  started,  glancing  wildly  about  an  instant,  then 
went  through  and  unfastened  the  stout  hook.  The 
chain  he  did  not  remove ;  it  was  about  a  foot  from  the 
floor  and  well  calculated  to  trip  up  any  unwary  in 
truder  and  send  him  sprawling  face  downward. 

The  night  had  grown  dark,  and  a  mist-like  rain  had 
set  in.  The  trees  were  beating  about  in  the  rising 
wind. 

"Open  wide  to  us,  Antoine  Freneau!  See  what  I 
have  brought  you,  if  you  can  make  light  enough." 

"Gaspard  Denys — is  it  you?  Why,  I  thought  you 
were  in  the  wilds  of  Canada.  And " 

He  kicked  aside  the  chain  and  peered  over  at  the 
small  figure  beside  Gaspard. 

Gaspard  had  just  stood  the  child  down,  and  his  arms 
tingled  with  the  strain  when  the  muscles  were  set 
loose. 

"You  have  brought  her !" 

There  was  a  sound  in  the  voice  far  from  welcome, 
almost  anger. 


4  A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Yes;  your  messenger  from  New  Orleans  told  the 
truth.  The  nurse  or  companion,  whatever  you  may 
call  her,  had  instructions,  if  no  one  claimed  her,  to  place 
her  in  a  convent." 

"And  you — you  interfered?"  Freneau  struck  his 
clinched  fist  hard  on  a  pile  of  skins. 

Gaspard  laughed. 

"What  I  am  to  do  with  a  child  is  more  than  I  can 
tell,"  Freneau  said  doggedly,  almost  threateningly. 

"Well,  you  can  give  us  something  to  eat.  Your  sup 
per  has  a  grand  fragrance  to  a  hungry  man.  Then  we 
can  discuss  the  other  points.  A  bear  taken  away  from 
his  meal  is  always  cross — eh,  Antoine?" 

Freneau  turned  swarthy;  he  was  dark,  and  the  red 
tinge  added  made  him  look  dangerous. 

"I  don't  understand " 

"Well,  neither  do  I.  You  married  your  daughter  to 
a  French  title  when  you  knew  she  would  have  been 
happier  here  with  a  young  fellow  who  loved  her ;  and — 
yes,  I  am  sure  she  loved  me.  Somewhere  back,  when 
my  forebears  called  themselves  St.  Denys,  there  might 
have  been  a  title  in  the  family.  In  this  New  World  we 
base  our  titles  on  our  courage,  ambitions,  successes. 
Then  her  little  daughter  was  born,  and  she  pined  away 
in  the  old  Chateau  de  Longueville  and  presently  died, 
while  her  husband  was  paying  court  and  compliments 
to  the  ladies  at  the  palace  of  Louis  XVII.  There  are 
deep  mutterings  over  in  France.  And  De  Longueville, 
with  his  half  dozen  titles,  marries  one  of  Marie  An 
toinette's  ladies  in  waiting.  The  child  goes  on  in  the 
old  chateau.  Two  boys  are  born  to  the  French  inher 
itance,  and  little  mademoiselle  is  not  worth  a  rush. 
She  will  be  sent  to  her  grandfather  somewhere  in  the 
province  of  Louisiana.  But  the  nurse  goes  to  Canada 


RENEE   DE   LONGUEVILLE  5 

to  marry  her  lover,  expatriated  for  some  cause.  You 
see,  I  know  it  all.  If  mademoiselle  had  stayed  in 
France  she  would  have  been  put  in  a  convent." 

"The  best  thing !  the  best  thing !"  interrupted  the  old 
man  irascibly. 

"Word  was  sent  to  enter  her  in  a  convent  at  Quebec. 
Well,  I  have  brought  her  here.  Give  us  some  sup 
per." 

He  had  been  taking  off  the  child's  cap  and  coat  after 
they  entered  the  living  room.  A  great  flaming  torch 
stood  up  in  one  corner  of  the  chimney,  and  shed  a  pe 
culiar  golden-red  light  around  the  room,  leaving  some 
places  in  deep  shadow.  The  old  man  turned  his  meat, 
took  up  his  cake  of  bread,  and  put  them  on  the  table. 
Then  he  went  for  plates  and  knives. 

"This  is  your  grandfather,  Renee,"  Denys  said,  turn 
ing  the  child  to  face  him. 

The  girl  shrank  a  little,  and  then  suddenly  surveyed 
him  from  his  yarn  stockings  and  doeskin  breeches  up 
to  his  weather-beaten  and  not  especially  attractive  face, 
surmounted  by  a  shock  of  grizzled  hair.  She  looked 
steadily  out  of  large  brown  eyes.  She  was  slim,  with 
a  clear-cut  face  and  air  of  dignity,  a  child  of  nine  or  so. 
Curiously  enough,  his  eyes  fell.  He  turned  in  some 
confusion  without  a  word  and  went  on  with  his  prep 
arations. 

"Let  us  have  some  supper.  It  is  not  much.  Even 
if  I  had  expected  a  guest  I  could  not  have  added  to  it." 

"It  is  a  feast  to  a  hungry  man.  Our  dinner  was 
not  over-generous." 

Gaspard  took  one  side  of  his  host  and  placed  the 
little  girl  opposite  her  grandfather.  She  evinced  no 
surprise.  She  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  rough  living 
since  leaving  old  Quebec. 


6  A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

Antoine  broke  the  bread  in  chunks  and  handed  it 
to  each.  The  dish  of  corn  was  passed  and  the  venison 
steak  divided. 

"After  this  long  tramp  I  would  like  to  have  some 
thing  stronger  than  your  home-brewed  coffee,  though 
that's  not  bad.  Come,  be  a  little  friendly  to  a  re 
turned  traveller,"  exclaimed  the  guest. 

"You  should  have  had  it  without  the  asking,  Gas- 
pard  Denys,  if  you  had  given  me  a  moment's  time. 
You  came  down  the  Illinois,  I  suppose?" 

"To  St.  Charles.  There  the  boat  was  bound  to  hang 
up  for  the  night.  But  Pierre  Joutel  brought  us  down 
in  his  piroque  after  an  endless  amount  of  talk.  There 
was  a  dance  at  St.  Charles.  So  it  was  dark  when  we 
reached  here.  Lucky  you  are  outside  the  stockade." 

"And  you  carried  me,"  said  the  child,  in  a  clear, 
soft  voice  that  had  a  penetrative  sound. 

Antoine  started.  Why  should  he  hear  some  plead 
ing  in  the  same  voice  suddenly  strike  through  the 
years  ? 

Gaspard  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine.  Then  he  of 
fered  the  bottle  to  Antoine,  who  shook  his  head. 

"How  long  since?"  asked  Gaspard  mockingly. 

"I  do  not  drink  at  night." 

"Renee,  you  are  not  eating.  This  corn  is  good,  bet 
ter  than  with  the  fish.  And  the  bread !  Antoine,  you 
could  change  the  name  of  the  town  or  the  nickname. 
Go  into  the  baking  business." 

Freneau  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

Scarcity  of  flour  and  bread  had  at  one  time  given 
the  town  the  appellation  of  Pain  Court.  Now  there 
were  two  bakeries,  but  many  of  the  settlers  made  ex 
cellent  bread.  Freneau's  bread  cake  was  split  in  the 
middle  and  buttered,  at  least  Gaspard  helped  himself 


RENEE   DE    LONGUEVILLE  7 

liberally  and  spread  the  child's  piece  with  the  soft, 
sweet,  half-creamy  compound. 

"You  must  eat  a  little  of  the  meat,  Renee.  You  must 
grow  rosy  and  stout  in  this  new  home." 

The  men  ate  heartily  enough.  Everything  was 
strange  to  her,  though  for  that  matter  everything  had 
been  strange  since  leaving  the  old  chateau.  The  post- 
chaise,  the  day  in  Paris,  the  long  journey  across  the 
ocean,  the  city  of  Quebec  with  its  various  peoples,  and 
the  other  journey  through  lakes  and  over  portages. 
Detroit,  where  they  had  stayed  two  days  and  that  had 
appeared  beautiful  to  her;  the  little  towns,  the  sail 
down  the  Illinois  River  to  the  greater  one  that  seemed 
to  swallow  it  up. 

Marie  Loubet  had  said  her  rich  grandfather  in  the 
new  country  had  sent  for  her,  and  that  her  father  did 
not  care  for  her  since  his  sons  were  born.  Indeed,  he 
scarcely  gave  her  a  thought  until  it  occurred  to  him 
that  her  American-French  grandfather  was  well  able 
to  provide  for  her.  Her  mother's  dot  had  been  spent 
long  ago.  He  wanted  to  sell  the  old  chateau  and  its 
many  acres  of  ground,  for  court  living  was  high,  and 
the  trend  of  that  time  was  extravagance. 

"You  had  better  place  your  daughter  in  a  convent," 
said  the  amiable  stepmother,  who  had  never  seen  the 
little  girl  but  twice.  "The  boys  will  be  all  we  can  care 
for.  I  hope  heaven  will  not  send  me  any  daughters. 
They  must  either  have  a  large  dot  or  striking  beauty. 
And  I  am  sure  this  girl  of  yours  will  not  grow  up  into 
a  beauty." 

Yet  her  mother  had  been  beautiful  the  Count  re 
membered.  And  he  smiled  when  he  thought  of  the 
dower  he  had  exacted  from  the  old  trader.  No  doubt 
there  was  plenty  of  money  still,  and  this  grandchild 


8  A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

had  the  best  right  to  it.  She  might  like  it  better  than 
convent  life. 

Marie's  lover  had  emigrated  two  years  before,  and 
had  sent  her  money  to  pay  her  passage.  Why,  it  was 
almost  a  miraculous  opening.  So  Renee  de  Longue- 
ville  was  bundled  off  to  the  new  country. 

And  now  she  sat  here,  taking  furtive  glances  at  her 
grandfather,  who  did  not  want  her.  No  one  in  her 
short  life  had  been  absolutely  cross  to  her,  and  she 
was  quite  used  to  the  sense  of  not  being  wanted  until 
she  met  Gaspard  Denys.  Of  the  relationships  of  life 
she  knew  but  little;  yet  her  childish  heart  had  gone 
out  with  great  fervor  to  him  when  he  said,  "I  loved 
your  mother.  I  ought  to  have  married  her;  then  you 
would  have  been  my  little  girl." 

"Why  did  you  not?"  she  asked  gravely.  Then  with 
sweet  seriousness,  "I  should  like  to  be  your  little 
girl." 

"You  shall  be."  He  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and 
kissed  down  amid  the  silken  curls. 

So  now  she  did  not  mind  her  grandfather's  objec 
tion  to  her;  she  knew  with  a  child's  intuition  he  did 
not  want  her.  But  she  could,  she  did,  belong  to  Uncle 
Gaspard,  and  so  she  was  safe.  A  better  loved  child 
might  have  been  crushed  by  the  knowledge,  but  she 
was  always  solacing  herself  with  the  next  thing. 
This  time  it  was  the  first,  the  very  first  thing,  and  her 
little  heart  gave  a  beat  of  joy. 

Yet  she  was  growing  tired  and  sleepy,  child  fashion. 
The  two  men  were  talking  about  the  fur  trade,  the 
pelts  that  had  come  in,  the  Indians  and  hunters  that 
were  loitering  about.  It  had  been  a  long  day  to  her, 
and  the  room  was  warm.  The  small  head  drooped 
lower  with  a  nod. 


RENEE   DE   LONGUEVILLE  9 

There  was  a  pile  of  dressed  skins  one  side  of  the 
room,  soft  and  silken,  Freneau's  own  curing. 

Gaspard  paused  suddenly,  glanced  at  her,  then  rose 
and  took  her  in  his  arms  and  laid  her  down  on  them 
tenderly.  She  did  not  stir,  only  the  rosy  lips  parted 
as  with  a  half  smile. 

"Yes,  tell  me  what  to  do  with  her,"  Antoine  ex 
claimed,  as  if  that  had  been  the  gist  of  the  conversa 
tion.  "You  see  I  have  no  one  to  keep  house;  then  I 
am  out  hunting,  going  up  and  down,  the  river,  work 
ing  my  farm.  I  couldn't  be  bothered  with  woman 
kind.  I  can  cook  and  keep  house  and  wash  even.  I 
like  living  alone.  I  could  send  her  to  New  Orleans," 
raising  his  eyes  furtively. 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  the  other 
peremptorily.  "Antoine  Freneau,  you  owe  me  this 
child.  You  know  I  was  in  love  with  the  mother." 

"You  were  a  mere  boy,"  retorted  the  old  man  dis 
dainfully. 

"I  was  man  enough  to  love  her  then  and  always. 
I  have  never  put  any  one  in  her  place.  And  the  last 
time  we  walked  together  over  yonder  by  the  pond,  I 
told  her  I  was  going  up  north  to  make  money  for 
her,  and  that  in  a  year  I  should  come  back.  I  was 
twenty,  she  just  sixteen.  I  can  see  her  now;  I  can 
hear  her  voice  in  the  unformed  melody  of  the  child's. 
We  made  no  especial  promise,  but  we  both  knew.  I 
meant  to  ask  your  consent  when  I  came  back.  Seven 
months  afterward,  on  my  return,  I  found  you  had 
whisked  her  off  and  married  her  to  the  Count,  who, 
after  all,  cared  so  little  for  her  that  her  child  is  nothing 
to  him.  I  don't  know  what  lies  you  told  her,  but  I 
know  she  would  never  have  given  me  up  without  some 
persuasion  near  to  force." 


io         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

The  old  man  knew.  It  had  been  a  lie.  He  kept 
out  of  Gaspard's  way  for  the  next  two  years,  and  it 
was  well  for  him. 

"There  was  no  force,"  he  returned  gruffly.  "Do 
you  not  suppose  a  girl  can  see?  He  was  a  fine  fellow 
and  loved  her,  and  she  was  ready  to  go  with  him.  No 
one  dragged  her  to  church.  Well,  the  priest  would 
have  had  something  to  say.  They  are  not  wild  In 
dians  at  Quebec,  and  know  how  to  treat  a  woman." 

Gaspard  had  never  forced  more  than  this  out  of 
him.  But  he  was  sure  some  trickery  had  won  the  day 
and  duped  them  both. 

"Well,  what  have  you  gained?"  mockingly.  "You 
might  have  kept  your  daughter  here  and  had  grand 
children  growing  up  about  you,  instead  of  living  like 
a  lonely  old  hermit." 

"The  life  suits  me  well  enough,"  in  a  gruff  tone. 

"Then  give  me  the  child  that  should  have  been  mine. 
You  don't  want  her." 

"What  will  you  do  with  her?" 

"Have  a  home  some  day  and  put  her  in  it." 

"Bah!    And  you  are  off  months  at  a  time!" 

"There  would  be  some  one  to  look  after  her.  I 
shall  not  lead  this  roving  life  forever.  If  she  were 
less  like  her  mother  you  might  keep  her,  since  you 
were  so  won  by  her  father.  And  I  am  not  a  poor  man, 
Antoine  Freneau." 

"She  is  such  a  child."  Did  Gaspard  mean  that  some 
day  he  might  want  to  marry  her? 

"That  is  what  I  want.     Oh,  you  don't  know " 

He  paused  abruptly.  Antoine  could  never  under 
stand  the  longing  that  had  grown  upon  him  through 
these  weeks  to  possess  the  child,  to  play  at  father 
hood. 


RENEE  DE  LONGUEVILLE  n 

"No,  I  shall  not  be  likely  to  marry,"  almost  as  if 
he  had  suspected  what  was  in  Antoine's  pause,  but  he 
did  not.  "And  I've  envied  the  fathers  of  children. 
They  had  something  to  work  for,  to  hope  for.  And 
now  I  say  I  want  Renee  because  she  is  such  a  child.  I 
wish  she  could  stay  like  this  just  five  years;  then  I'd 
be  willing  to  have  her  grow  up.  But  I  know  you, 
Antoine  Freneau,  and  you  won't  take  half  care  of  her ; 
You  couldn't  love  her,  it  isn't  in  you.  But  you  shall 
not  crowd  her  out  of  love." 

"You  talk  like  a  fool,  Gaspard  Denys!  But  if  you 
want  the  child — I  am  an  old  man,  and  I  tell  you 
frankly  that  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  her.  I 
would  have  to  change  my  whole  life." 

"And  I  would  be  glad  to  change  mine  for  such  a 
cause.  You  must  promise  not  to  interfere  in  any  way. 
We  will  have  some  writings  drawn  up  and  signed 
before  the  priest." 

Antoine  gave  a  yawn.  "To-morrow,  or  any  time 
you  like.  What  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?  It  is  late. 
If  you  will  take  a  shakedown  in  the  other  room — you 
see,  I'm  not  prepared  for  visitors." 

"Yes;  I  have  slept  in  worse  places.  The  child  has 
a  box  of  clothes  at  St.  Charles.  Hers  will  have  to  do 
for  to-night." 

He  straightened  out  the  impromptu  bed  and  fixed 
the  child  more  comfortably.  He  was  tired  and  sleepy 
himself.  Antoine  lighted  a  bit  of  wick  drawn  through 
a  piece  of  tin  floating  in  a  bowl  of  oily  grease  and  took 
it  in  the  storeroom,  where  both  men  soon  arranged 
a  sort  of  bunk. 

"Good-night,"  said  Antoine,  and  shut  the  door. 

But  he  did  not  go  to  bed.  The  fire  had  mostly 
burned  out,  and  now  the  torch  dropped  down  and  the 


12          A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

room  was  full  of  shadows.  He  sat  awhile  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed  and  made  it  creak ;  then  he  rose  and  opened 
the  shutter  very  softly,  creeping  out.  Even  then  he 
listened  suspiciously.  Turning,  he  ran  swiftly  down 
to  the  river's  edge,  through  the  wet  sedge  of  last  year's 
grass.  Then  he  gave  a  low  whistle. 

Some  one  answered  with  an  oath.  "We  were  just 
going  away,"  in  a  hissing  French  voice.  "What  the 
devil  kept  you  so?" 

"I  could  not  get  away.  There  was  a  fellow,"  and 
Antoine  prefaced  the  excuse  with  an  oath.  "He 
wouldn't  go ;  I  had  to  fix  a  bunk  for  him." 

"Antoine  Freneau,  if  you  betray  us — "  in  a  threat 
ening  tone. 

"Ah,  bah !  Would  I  kill  the  goose  that  lays  golden 
eggs?  Come,  hurry." 

They  unloaded  some  cases  from  the  piroque  and 
dumped  them  on  the  soft  ground. 

"Now,  carry  them  yourself.  What!  No  barrow? 
You  are  a  fool !  But  we  must  be  off  up  the  river." 

There  was  considerable  smuggling  in  spite  of  the 
watchfulness  of  the  authorities.  Duties  were  levied 
on  so  many  things,  and  some — many,  indeed — closely 
under  government  supervision. 

Antoine  Freneau  tugged  and  swore.  The  cases  of 
brandy  were  not  light.  He  went  back  and  forth,  every 
time  peering  in  the  window  and  listening;  but  all  was 
quiet.  The  cases  he  hid  among  the  trees.  He  had 
drawn  some  tree  branches,  ostensibly  for  firewood, 
and  covered  the  cases  with  this  brush  until  he  could  dis 
pose  of  them  more  securely. 

Once,  several  years  before,  his  house  had  been  thor 
oughly  ransacked  in  his  absence.  He  knew  he  was 
suspected  of  unlawful  dealings,  and  he  had  a  dim 


REN£E  DE  LONGUEVILLE  13 

misgiving  that  Gaspard  had  one  end  of  the  secret.  He 
had  more  than  once  been  very  overbearing. 

He  came  in  wet  and  tired,  and,  disrobing  himself, 
crawled  into  bed.  Fine  work,  indeed,  it  would  be  to 
have  a  housekeeper  and  a  prying  child!  He  laughed 
to  think  Gaspard  fancied  that  he  would  be  unwilling 
to  give  her  up. 

Still  he  had  hated  Count  de  Longueville  that  he 
should  have  extorted  so  much  dowry.  But  then  it 
seemed  a  great  thing  to  have  titled  grandsons  and  a 
daughter  with  the  entree  of  palaces,  although  he  would 
never  have  gone  to  witness  her  state  and  consequence. 

Every  year  money  had  grown  dearer  and  dearer  to 
him,  though,  miser  like,  he  made  no  spread,  never 
bragged,  but  pleaded  poverty  when  he  paid  church 
dues  at  Christmas  and  Easter. 


CHAPTER  II. 

OLD  ST.   LOUIS. 

SOON  after  daylight  the  strong  west  wind  drove 
away  the  rain  and  clouds.  The  air  was  soft  and 
balmy,  full  of  the  indescribable  odors  of  spring.  Birds 
began  their  pipings;  robin  and  thrush  and  meadow- 
larks  and  wood-pigeons  went  circling  about  on  glisten 
ing  wings. 

Antoine  found  himself  some  dry  clothes  and  kindled 
his  fire.  He  would  bake  a  few  corn  cakes;  they  had 
demolished  the  loaf  of  bread  last  night.  There  was  a 
flitch  of  dried  bacon  and  some  eggs. 

The  door  opened,  and  Gaspard  wished  his  host 
good-morning.  Renee  was  still  asleep. 

There  was  a  little  rivulet  that  emptied  in  the  mill 
pond,  and  near  the  house  Freneau  had  hollowed  out 
quite  a  basin.  Gaspard  went  down  here  for  his  morning 
ablutions.  A  tall,  well-developed  man,  just  turned  of 
thirty  with  a  strong,  decisive  face,  clear  blue  eyes  that 
could  flash  like  steel  in  a  moment  of  indignation,  yet  in 
the  main  were  rather  humorous ;  chestnut  hair,  closely 
cropped,  and  a  beard  trimmed  in  the  same  fashion. 
He  soused  his  head  now  in  the  miniature  basin  and 
shook  it  like  a  water  dog.  Then  he  drew  in  long 
breaths  of  the  divine  morning  air,  and  glanced  about 
with  a  sort  of  worship  in  his  heart,  took  a  few  steps 
this  way  and  that.  Antoine  watched  him  with  bated 
breath,  he  was  so  near  the  secret. 

But  Denys  had  heard  nothing  in  the  night.     He  was 


OLD   ST.    LOUIS  15 

tired  and  had  slept  soundly.  Suddenly  he  bethought 
himself  of  the  little  girl  and  went  into  the  house.  An- 
toine  was  preparing  breakfast.  Renee  was  sitting  up, 
glancing  round.  She  had  been  in  so  many  strange 
places  this  did  not  disturb  her. 

She  rose  upright  now,  and  stretched  out  her  hands 
with  a  half-timid,  half-joyous  smile. 

"Uncle  Gaspard,"  she  said,  "where  are  we?" 

Old  Antoine  raised  his  head.  The  French  was  so 
pure,  the  voice  had  an  old  reminder  of  the  one  back 
of  her  mother. 

"We  are  at  St.  Louis,  child." 

"And  where  is  the  King?" 

"Oh,  my  little  girl,  back  in  France.  There  is  no 
king  here.  And  we  are  not  French  any  longer,  but 
Spanish." 

"I  am  French."     She  said  it  proudly. 

"We  keep  our  hearts  and  our  language  French. 
Some  day  there  may  be  another  overturn.  I  do  not 
see  as  it  matters  much.  The  Spanish  are  pretty  good 
to  us." 

"Good!  And  with  these  cursed  river  laws!  grum 
bled  Antoine. 

"If  report  says  true,  it  can't  interfere  very  much 
with  you." 

"Report  is  a  liar,"  the  man  flung  out  savagely. 

Gaspard  Denys  laughed. 

After  a  moment  he  said,  "Isn't  there  a  towel  or  a 
cloth  of  some  kind  ?  I  dried  myself  in  the  air." 

"I  told  you  I  had  not  any  accommodations  for  wom- 
enkind.  You  should  have  left  her  at  the  convent. 
Farther  back,  it  is  De  Longueville's  business  to  care 
for  her." 

"But  you  see  he  did  not.    You  and  he  are  her  only 


1 6          A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

blood  kin,  and  you  both  cast  her  off.  It  is  well  she 
has  found  a  friend." 

"The  convent  and  the  Sisters  would  have  been  bet 
ter." 

"Come,  man,  some  sort  of  a  towel,"  exckimed  Denys 
imperatively. 

Antoine  rummaged  in  the  old  chest,  and  presently 
brought  forth  one.  Denys  noted  that  it  was  soft  and 
fine  and  not  of  home  manufacture.  Then  he  led  Renee 
out  to  the  little  basin  and,  dipping  the  towel  in,  washed 
her  face  and  hands. 

"Oh,  how  good  it  feels !"  she  cried  delightedly. 

Gaspard  had  grown  quite  used  to  playing  lady's 
maid.  He  took  a  comb  out  of  its  case  of  Indian  work 
that  he  carried  about  in  his  pocket,  and  combed  out  the 
tumbled  hair.  She  winced  now  and  then  at  a  bad 
tangle,  and  laughed  on  the  top  of  it.  Then  he  bent 
over  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead.  She  caught  his 
head  in  her  small  arms  and  pressed  her  soft  cheek 
against  his  caressingly. 

"I  love  you,  Uncle  Gaspard,"  she  exclaimed.  "But 
I  don't  love  that  old  man  in  there.  Are  you  sure  he 
is  my  grandfather?  I  couldn't  live  here.  I  should 
run  away  and  live  with  the  birds  and  the  squirrels." 

"And  the  Indians." 

"But  that  Light  of  the  Moon  was  sweet  and  pretty." 

"Yes.  I  should  like  to  have  brought  her  with  us 
for  your  maid." 

"Oh,  that  would  have  been  nice !"  She  clapped  her 
hands.  "What  is  over  there?"  nodding  her  head. 

"That  is  St.  Louis — the  fort,  the  palisades,  the  stock 
ade  to  keep  out  the  Indians." 

"There  are  no  Indians  in  France,"  she  said  retro 
spectively. 


OLD   ST.    LOUIS  17 

"No.  And  I  have  wondered  a  little,  Renee,  if  you 
would  not  rather  be  back  there." 

"And  not  have  you  ?"     She  clung  to  his  arm. 

He  gave  a  little  sigh. 

"Oh,  are  you  not  glad  to  have  me?  Does  no  one 
want  me?" 

The  pathos  of  the  young  voice  pierced  his  heart. 

"Yes,  I  want  you.  I  had  no  one  to  care  for,  no 
brothers  or  sisters  or " 

"Men  have  wives  and  children."  There  was  a 
touch  of  almost  regret  in  her  tone,  as  if  she  were 
sorry  for  him. 

"And  you  are  my  child.  We  will  go  in  town  to-day 
and  find  some  one  to  look  after  you.  And  there  will 
be  children  to  play  with." 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  so  glad.     Little  girls?" 

"Yes.     I  know  ever  so  many." 

"I  saw  my  little  brothers  in  Paris  as  we  came 
through.  They  were  very  pretty — at  least  their  clothes 
were.  And  papa's  wife — well,  I  think  the  Queen 
couldn't  have  had  any  finer  gown.  They  were  just 
going  to  the  palace,  and  papa  kissed  me  farewell.  It 
was  very  dreary  at  the  old  chateau.  And  when  the 
wind  blew  through  the  great  trees  it  seemed  like  people 
crying.  Old  Pierre  used  to  count  his  beads." 

What  a  strange,  dreary  life  the  little  girl  had  had ! 
It  should  all  be  better  now.  The  child  of  the  woman 
he  had  loved ! 

"If  grandfather  is  rich,  as  Marie  said,  why  does  he 
live  that  way?" 

She  made  a  motion  toward  the  house. 

"No  one  knows  whether  he  is  rich  or  not.  He 
trades  a  little  with  the  Indians  and  the  boats  going  up 
and  down  the  river." 


1 8          A  LITTLE   GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

The  shrill  summons  to  breakfast  reached  them. 

They  went  in,  the  child  holding  tightly  to  Gaspard's 
hand.  It  seemed  as  if  her  grandfather  looked  more 
forbidding  now  than  he  had  last  night.  He  was  both 
sulky  and  surly,  but  the  viands  were  appetizing,  and 
this  morning  Renee  felt  hungry.  Gaspard  was  glad  to 
see  her  eat.  The  old  man  still  eyed  her  furtively. 

"Well  ?"  he  interrogated,  as  they  rose  from  the  table, 
looking  meaningly  at  Gaspard. 

"We  are  going  in  the  town,  the  child  and  I,"  Gas 
pard  replied  briefly. 

Antoine  nodded. 

Oh,  what  a  morning  it  was !  The  air  seemed  fairly 
drenched  with  the  new  growth  of  everything;  the 
tints  were  indescribable.  Some  shrubs  and  flowers 
had  begun  to  bloom.  Renee  had  seen  so  much  that  was 
cold  and  bleak,  trees  leafless  and  apparently  lifeless  amid 
the  almost  black  green  of  hemlocks  and  firs.  Streams 
and  pools  frozen  over,  and  a  coldness  that  seemed 
to  penetrate  one's  very  soul.  At  Detroit  it  had  soft 
ened  a  little  and  all  along  the  journey  since  then  were 
heralds  of  warmth  and  beauty.  The  child,  too,  ex 
panded  in  it,  and  the  changes  in  her  face  interested 
Gaspard  intently.  He  was  a  great  lover  of  nature 
himself. 

Early  St.  Louis  was  all  astir.  From  the  bustle,  the 
sound  of  voices,  the  gesticulation,  and  running  to  and 
fro,  it  appeared  as  if  there  might  be  thousands  of  people 
instead  of  six  or  seven  hundred.  Everything  looked 
merry,  everybody  was  busy.  There  was  a  line  of  boats 
coming,  others  already  at  the  primitive  landings,  In 
dians  and  trappers  in  picturesque  attire,  gay  feathers 
and  red  sashes ;  fringes  down  the  sides  of  their  long 
leggings  and  the  top  of  their  moccasins.  Traders  were 


OLD    ST.    LOUIS  19 

there,  too,  sturdy  brown-faced  Frenchmen,  many  of 
whom  had  taken  a  tour  or  two  up  in  the  North  Coun 
try  themselves,  and  had  the  weather-beaten  look  that 
comes  of  much  living  out  of  doors.  Children  ran 
about,  black-eyed,  rosy-cheeked,  shrill  of  voice.  Small 
Indians,  with  their  grave  faces  and  straight  black  hair, 
and  here  and  there  a  squaw  with  her  papoose  strapped 
to  her  back. 

Gaspard  Denys  paused  a  moment  to  study  them. 
He  really  had  an  artist's  soul;  these  pictures  always 
appealed  to  him. 

They  came  in  the  old  Rue  Royale,  skirting  the  river 
a  short  distance,  then  turned  up  to  the  Rue  d'Eglise. 
Here  was  a  low  stone  house,  rather  squat,  the  roof  not 
having  a  high  peak.  A  wide  garden  space,  with  fruit 
trees  and  young  vegetables,  some  just  peeping  up  from 
brown  beds  and  a  great  space  in  front  where  grass 
might  have  grown  if  little  feet  had  not  trodden  it  so 
persistently.  A  broad  porch  had  a  straw-thatched 
roof,  and  here  already  a  young  girl  sat  spinning,  while 
several  children  were  playing  about. 

"Lisa!  Lisa!"  called  the  girl,  rising.  "Ah,  Mon 
sieur  Denys,  we  are  very  glad  to  see  you.  You  have 
been  absent  a  long  while.  You  missed  the  merry 
making  and — and  we  missed  you,"  blushing. 

A  pretty  girl,  with  dark  eyes  and  hair  done  up  in  a 
great  coil  of  braids;  soft  peachy  skin  with  a  dainty 
bloom  on  the  cheek  and  a  dimple  in  the  broad  chin. 
Her  lips  had  the  redness  of  a  ripe  red  cherry  that  is 
so  clear  you  almost  think  it  filled  with  wine. 

"And  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Barbe,"  taking  her  out 
stretched  hand.  "Ought  I  to  say  'ma'm'selle'  now?" 
glancing  her  all  over,  from  the  braids  done  up  to 
certain  indications  in  the  attire  of  womanhood. 


20          A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

She  blushed  and  laughed.  "Oh,  I  hope  I  have  not 
grown  as  much  as  that.  I  should  like  always  to  be 
Barbe  to  you." 

"But  some  day  you  may  be  married.  Then  you  will 
be  madame  to  everybody." 

"Lise  thinks  I  have  too  good  a  home  to  give  up 
lightly.  I  am  very  happy." 

Madame  Renaud  came  out  of  the  house.  She  was 
taller  and  larger  than  her  sister,  but  with  the  same 
dark  eyes  and  hair.  Her  sleeves  were  rolled  up  above 
her  elbows  and  showed  a  plump,  pretty  arm ;  her  wide, 
homespun  apron  nearly  covered  her. 

"Oh,  Gaspard — M'sieu  Denys!  You  are  such  a 
stranger  and  we  have  missed  you  much,  much,"  with 
an  emphasis.  "We  were  not  sure  but  some  Quebec 
belle  would  capture  you  and  keep  you  there.  You  will 
have  warm  welcomes.  Whose  is  the  child?" 

The  other  children  had  stopped  their  play  and  were 
edging  nearer  Renee,  who  in  turn  shrank  against  Denys. 

"I  have  come  to  talk  about  the  child.  May  I  not 
come  in?  Are  you  busy?" 

"With  bread  and  cakes.  We  are  not  so  poorly  off 
if  we  have  a  bad  name,"  smiling  with  amusement. 
"Here  is  a  chair,  and  a  stool  for  the  little  one.  She 
looks  pale.  Is  she  not  well?" 

"She  has  had  a  long  journey.  First  across  the  ocean, 
then  from  Quebec  in  not  the  pleasantest  of  weather 
for  such  a  tramp.  But  she  has  not  been  ill  a  day." 

Denys  placed  his  arm  over  the  child's  shoulder,  and 
she  leaned  her  arms  on  his  knee. 

Madame  Renaud  raised  her  eyebrows  a  trifle. 

"You  remember  the  daughter  of  Antoine  Fre- 
neau  ?" 

"Yes — a  little.     He  took  her  to  Canada  and  married 


OLD   ST.    LOUIS  21 

her  to  some  great  person  and  she  died  in  France.  Poor 
thing !  I  wonder  if  she  was  happy  ?" 

She,  too,  knew  of  the  gossip  that  Denys  had  been 
very  much  in  love  with  this  girl,  and  she  stole  a  little 
furtive  glance;  but  the  man's  face  was  not  so  ready 
with  confessions.  Much  hard  experience  had  settled 
the  lines. 

''Then  the  Count  married  again.  He  is  in  the  King's 
service  at  the  palace.  They  sent  the  child  over  to  her 
grandfather.  I  went  to  Canada  for  her." 

"And  this  is  Renee  Freneau's  child.     Poor  thing!" 

She  glanced  intently  at  the  little  girl,  who  flushed 
and  cast  down  her  eyes.  Why  was  she  always  a  poor 
thing  ? 

"And  that  is  no  home  for  her." 

"I  should  think  not!  Home,  indeed,  in  that  old 
cabin,  where  men  meet  to  carouse,  and  strange  stories 
are  told,"  said  madame  decisively. 

"I  am  to  be  her  guardian  and  look  after  her.  I 
think  I  shall  settle  down.  I  have  tramped  about 
enough  to  satisfy  myself  for  one  while.  I  shall  go 
into  trading,  and  have  some  one  keep  a  house  for  me 
and  take  care  of  the  child.  Meanwhile  I  must  per 
suade  some  one  to  give  her  shelter  and  oversight." 

"Yes,  yes,  m'sieu,"  encouragingly. 

"And  so  I  have  come  to  you,"  looking  up,  with  a 
bright  laugh. 

Gaspard  Denys  very  often  obtained  just  what  he 
wanted  without  much  argument.  Perhaps  it  was  not 
so  much  his  way  as  his  good  judgment  of  others. 

"And  so  I  have  come  to  you,"  he  repeated.  "If  you 
will  take  her  in  a  little  while,  I  think  she  will  enjoy 
being  with  children.  She  has  had  a  lonely  life  thus 
far." 


22         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Poor  thing!  Poor  little  girl,  to  lose  her  mother 
so  soon!  And  you  think  old  Antoine  will  make  no 
trouble?" 

"Oh,  no,  no !  He  would  not  know  what  to  do  with 
her." 

Madame  Renaud  laughed  derisively,  and  gave  a  nod, 
throwing  her  head  back,  which  displayed  her  pretty 
throat. 

"So  I  shall  look  after  her.  He  will  never  interfere. 
It  will  not  be  for  long.  And  how  shall  I  appear  put 
ting  on  fatherly  airs  ?"  in  a  tone  of  amusement. 

"Louis  is  but  two  and  thirty,  and  you " 

"Have  just  turned  thirty,"  subjoined  Gaspard. 

"And  little  Louis  is  twelve,  stout  and  sturdy  and 
learning  to  figure  as  well  as  read  under  the  good  pere. 
Then  there  are  three  others,  and  papa  is  as  proud  of 
them  as  was  ever  any  hen  with  her  chicks.  I  never 
heard  that  Chanticleer  was  a  pattern  of  fatherly  devo 
tion." 

They  both  laughed  at  that. 

"And,  Gaspard,  you  should  have  settled  upon  some 
nice  girl  at  the  balls.  You  have  been  chosen  king  times 
enough." 

He  flushed  a  trifle.  "I  have  been  quite  a  roamer  in 
strange  places,  and  at  first  had  a  fancy  for  a  life  of 
adventure.  But,  as  I  said,  I  think  of  settling  down 
now.  And  if  you  will  keep  the  little  girl  for  me  until 
I  get  a  home " 

"And  you  want  a  good  housemaid.  Gaspard,  Mere 
Lunde  has  lost  her  son.  True,  he  was  a  great  burden 
and  care,  and  she  has  spent  most  of  her  little  fortune 
upon  him.  I  think  she  would  be  glad " 

"The  very  person.  Thank  you  a  thousand  times, 
Madame  Renaud.  I  should  want  some  one  settled  in 


OLD   ST.    LOUIS  23 

her  ways,  content  to  stay  at  home,  and  with  a  tender 
heart.  Yes,  Mere  Lunde  will  be  the  very  one. 

"She  was  going  to  the  pere's ;  then  his  niece  came 
from  Michilimackinac.  They  had  bad  work  at  the 
Mission  with  the  Indians,  and  she  just  escaped  with 
her  life  and  her  little  boy." 

"Yes ;  I  will  see  her.  It  is  advised  that  you  get  the 
cage  before  you  find  the  bird;  but  the  bird  may  be 
captured  elsewhere  if  yon  wait  too  long.  The  child's 
box  comes  in  from  St.  Charles ;  they  would  not  stir  a 
step  farther  last  night.  I  must  go  and  look  after  it. 
Then  I  can  send  it  here?  And  Louis  will  not  kick 
it  out  of  doors  when  he  comes  ?"  smiling  humorously. 

"He  will  be  liker  to  keep  the  little  one  for  good  and 
all  and  let  you  whistle,"  she  retorted  merrily. 

"Thank  you  a  hundred  times  until  you  are  better 
paid.  And  now  I  must  be  going.  I  expect  the  town 
will  almost  look  strange." 

"And  plain  after  gay  Quebec ;  and  Detroit,  they  say, 
has  some  grand  people  in  it.  But,  bah,  they  are  Eng 
lish  !"  with  a  curl  of  the  lip. 

He  rose  now.  Madame  Renaud  had  not  been  idle, 
but  had  rolled  out  dough  fairly  brown  with  spices  and 
cut  it  in  little  cakes  of  various  shapes,  filling  up  some 
baking  sheets  of  tin. 

"You  will  leave  the  child?  Renee —  what  is  her 
name?  It  has  slipped  my  mind." 

"Renee  de  Longueville." 

The  child  clung  to  his  hand.  "I  want  to  go  with 
you,"  she  said  in  a  tone  of  entreaty. 

"Yes,  and  see  St.  Louis?  He  is  her  king  or  was 
until  she  touched  this  Spanish  soil." 

"The  Spaniards  have  been  very  good  to  us.  But  we 
all  hope  to  go  back  again  some  day.  Renee,  will  you 


24         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

not  stay  and  play  with  the  children?  There  is  Sophie, 
about  your  age  or  a  little  older,  and  Elise " 

"No,"  she  returned  with  a  long  breath;  "I  want 
Uncle  Gaspard." 

"Adopted  already?  Well,  you  will  bring  her  in  to 
dinner?"  with  a  cordial  intonation. 

"If  not,  to  supper." 

"You  will  tire  her  to  death  dragging  her  around." 

"Oh,  heaven  forefend,"  in -mock  fear. 

He  paused  a  moment  or  two  and  glanced  at  Renee, 
half  questioningly,  but  she  still  clung  to  him. 

They  took  their  way  along  the  street,  but  from  every 
corner  they  had  a  glimpse  of  the  river,  now  flowing 
lazily  along.  The  French  seemed  to  have  a  fancy  for 
building  their  towns  on  the  margin  of  a  river.  Partly, 
perhaps,  from  fear  of  the  Indians,  but  quite  as  much 
from  innate  sociability,  as  they  preferred  compactness, 
and  did  not  branch  out  into  farms  until  later  on.  But 
many  of  these  squares  had  not  more  than  three  or  four 
houses;  some,  indeed,  only  one,  the  rest  devoted  to  a 
garden. 

Here  was  the  market,  but  there  were  not  many  cus 
tomers  this  morning,  though  the  stands  were  attract 
ively  arranged.  And  beyond  was  the  old  Laclede  man 
sion.  He  it  was  who  had  laid  out  the  town  and  named 
its  streets.  On  the  main  street  was  his  large  store, 
but  it  was  then  the  end  of  Rue  Royale.  He  had  wel 
comed  the  emigration  from  Fort  Chartres  when  the 
English  had  taken  possession,  and  set  a  band  of  work 
men  building  log  houses  for  them.  His  own  house 
was  quite  roomy  and  imposing. 

Then  they  went  down  to  the  levee,  which  presented 
a  busy  and  picturesque  sight.  Boats  were  being  un 
loaded  of  bales  of  furs  and  articles  of  merchandise. 


OLD   ST.    LOUIS  25 

Indians  with  blankets  around  them  or  with  really  gay 
trappings;  coureur  de  bois;  Frenchmen,  both  jolly  and 
stern,  chaffering,  buying,  sending  piles  of  skins  away 
on  barrows,  paying  for  them  in  various  kinds  of  wares, 
arms,  ammunition,  beads  and  trinkets,  though  these 
were  mostly  taken  by  the  squaws. 

Denys  found  his  parcels  and  the  box  belonging  to 
the  child,  and  responded  to  the  cordial  greetings. 

"Here,  Noyan,"  he  called  to  a  man  who  had  just 
trundled  his  barrow  down  and  who  paused  to  make  an 
awkward  salutation.  He  had  a  blue  cotton  kerchief 
tied  round  his  head,  buckskin  trousers,  and  a  sort  of 
blouse  coat  made  of  coarse  woollen  stuff,  belted  in 
loosely ;  but  it  held  a  pouch  containing  tobacco  and  his 
knife,  and  a  small  hatchet  was  suspended  from  it. 

"M'sieu  Denys !  One  has  not  seen  you  for  an  age ! 
Were  you  up  to  the  north?  It  is  a  good  sight.  And 
have  you  been  making  a  fortune?" 

The  wide,  smiling  mouth  showed  white,  even  teeth. 

"Not  up  in  the  fur  regions.  I  took  Canada  this 
time." 

"Then  thou  hast  lots  of  treasures  that  will  set  the 
dames  and  the  maids  crazy  with  longing.  They  are 
gay  people  in  those  old  towns,  and  the  state  they  keep 
is  something  like  a  court,  I  hear.  Have  you  brought 
home  Madame  Denys?  Is  it  not  high  time?" 

"Past  time,"  returning  the  laugh.  "But  our  good 
Pierre  Laclede  is  content  to  remain  a  bachelor,  and 
why  not  I  ?" 

"I  am  afraid  thou  art  hard  to  suit.  Surely  we  have 
pretty  maids  here;  and  at  New  Orleans  it  is  said  they 
make  a  man  lose  his  head  if  they  do  but  smile  on  him. 
A  dangerous  place  that !"  and  he  laughed  merrily. 

"Are  you  busy?" 


26          A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Yes  and  no.  I  am  to  look  after  M.  Maxent's  boat 
load,  but  it  will  not  be  in  until  noon.  So,  if  I  can  catch 
a  job  I  am  ready." 

"Then  you  are  the  man  for  me.  Come.  They  have 
piled  up  the  freight  here  on  the  wharf.  I  am  a  lucky 
fellow  to  meet  you.  I  feel  quite  strange  after  my  long 
absence.  I  suppose  the  old  storehouse  has  not  burned 
down?  It  could  not  well  be  robbed,"  and  Monsieur 
Denys  laughed  with  gay  indifference. 

"When  a  man  has  only  the  coat  on  his  back  he  need 
not  be  afraid  of  thieves." 

"Unless  he  fall  among  Indians." 

"Ah,  bah !  yes,"  with  a  comical  shrug.  "And  some 
times  they  take  his  skin." 

There  were  bales  strapped  up,  with  thongs  of  hide 
over  the  coarse  covering;  some  sacks  made  of  hide; 
several  boxes  bound  about  with  bands  of  iron.  Noyan 
looked  them  over  and  considered. 

"I  must  go  twice,  M'sieu  Denys,"  looking  askance 
as  if  his  employer  might  object. 

"Very  well.  This  box  is  to  go  to  Madame  Re- 
naud's." 

The  man  nodded,  and  began  to  pile  on  the  goods, 
fastening  them  with  some  stout  straps. 

"Do  you  go,  too  ?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Here,  Jaques,  sit  on  this  box  and  guard 
these  two  bundles,  and  earn  a  little  more  than  your 
salt." 

A  shock-headed  boy,  with  a  broad,  stupid  face,  had 
been  looking  on  indifferently,  and  now  he  dropped  on 
the  box  like  a  weight  of  lead,  with  a  grunt  that  meant 
assent  and  a  grin  that  betokened  satisfaction. 

"We  must  retrace  our  steps,"  said  Denys  to  the  little 
girl.  "But  it  is  not  far." 


OLD   ST.    LOUIS  27 

They  passed  the  market  again.  They  turned  into  the 
Rue  de  Rive,  just  beyond  the  Rue  Royale.  A  building 
of  rough  stone,  with  a  heavy  doorway  that  looked  as 
if  it  had  been  deserted  a  long  while,  which  was  true 
enough.  A  broad  bar  had  fastened  it  securely,  and 
the  great  lock  might  have  guarded  the  treasures  of 
Niebelungs. 

Denys  unlocked  it  with  some  difficulty,  threw  open 
the  door  and  unfastened  the  shutter. 

"Whew!  What  a  musty  old  hole!  It  must  be 
cleaned  up.  I  will  attend  to  that  to-morrow.  Dump 
the  things  in  here,  and  then  go  for  the  others." 

On  the  western  end  was  an  addition  of  hewn  logs, 
with  big  posts  set  in  the  corners.  Denys  marched 
around  and  surveyed  it.  There  was  a  space  of  neg 
lected  ground,  with  two  or  three  fine  trees  and  a  huddle 
of  grape-vines  fallen  to  the  ground.  It  did  not  look 
altogether  inviting.  But  just  beyond  was  the  Rue  de 
la  Tour  that  led  straight  out  to  the  old  fort,  and  only 
a  step  farther  was  the  church  and  the  priest's  house. 
Then,  it  would  not  be  very  far  from  the  Renauds. 

Renee  was  watching  him  as  he  peered  about. 

"It  looks  a  dull  place  for  a  little  girl !"  he  exclaimed. 

"Are  you  going  to  live  here  ?"  with  some  curiosity. 

"Oh,  yes.  But  it  will  be  fixed  up.  And — a  flower 
garden,"  hesitatingly. 

"I  don't  mind  if  you  are  here,"  and  she  slipped  her 
hand  in  his  with  a  gesture  of  possession. 

"And  we  will  have  a  nice  old  woman  to  get  our 
meals  and  make  our  beds  and  keep  the  house  tidy. 
Oh,  it  will  be  all  right  when  it  is  cleared  up.  And  you 
will  soon  know  some  little  girls.  And  we  can  take 
walks  around." 

She  started  suddenly.     A  bird  up  in  the  tree  poured 


28         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

forth  a  torrent  of  melody.  Her  eyes  grew  luminous, 
her  lips  quivered,  her  pale  cheeks  flushed. 

"Oh,  birds!"  she  cried.  I  used  to  talk  to  them  at 
the  chateau  and  feed  them  with  crumbs.  They  would 
come  to  my  hand." 

"You  shall  tame  them  here.  Oh,  we  will  have  nice 
times  together,"  and  now  he  pressed  her  hand. 

The  sweetness  of  her  little  face  went  to  his  heart. 
Yes,  she  was  like  her  mother. 

Noyan  came  with  the  next  load,  threw  off  the  few 
parcels,  and  took  his  way  to  Madame  Renaud's.  Denys 
locked  his  door  again  and  they  turned  away. 

"Now  we  will  go  and  find  Mere  Lunde.  It  is  up 
somewhere  by  the  fort.  That  will  be  quite  a  landmark 
for  you.  And  the  great  Indian  chief,  Pontiac,  that  I 
told  you  about  at  Detroit,  lies  buried  there." 

"I  do  not  think  I  like  Indians,"  she  returned  grave 
ly.  "Only  the  babies  are  so  odd,  and  the  little  children. 
It  is  a  pity  they  should  grow  up  so  cruel." 

"We  have  kept  very  good  friends  with  them  thus 
far." 

They  had  begun  to  build  the  new  palisades.  Yes, 
here  was  the  fort,  and  the  Guion  house,  and  the 
grave  that  she  did  not  care  to  linger  over.  Then  they 
turned  into  the  street  of  the  Barns,  La  rue  des  Granges, 
and  soon  found  Mere  Lunde,  who  was  cooking  a  sa 
vory  pottage,  and  welcomed  Gaspard  Denys  warmly. 

A  little  old  Frenchwoman  such  as  artists  love  to 
paint.  She  was  round  in  the  shoulders,  made  so  by 
much  stooping  over  her  son  and  her  work  in  the  tiny 
garden,  where  she  raised  much  of  her  living.  She 
was  wrinkled,  but  her  eyes  were  bright,  and  her  cheeks 
still  had  a  color  in  them.  She  wore  the  coif,  her  best 
one  being  white,  but  this  a  sort  of  faded  plaid.  Her 


OLD   ST.    LOUIS  29 

skirt  just  came  to  her  ankles,  and  to-day  she  had  on 
sabots,  that  made  a  little  clatter  as  she  stepped  round. 
Over  her  shoulders  was  pinned  a  small  gray  kerchief. 
She  looked  so  cheerful  and  tidy,  so  honest  and  kindly, 
that  she  went  to  one's  heart  at  once. 

M'sieu  must  hear  about  her  son,  poor  lad — all  she 
had  to  live  for.  Yet,  perhaps,  it  was  well  the  Good 
Father  took  him  before  she  went.  And  now  she 
worked  a  little  for  the  neighbors.  Everybody  was 
kind  to  her.  And  would  they  not  partake  of  her 
simple  meal?  It  was  not  much,  to  be  sure,  but  it 
would  make  her  very  happy. 

Denys  admitted  that  he  was  hungry,  and  Renee's  eyes 
had  an  assenting  light  in  them.  Over  the  meal  he 
made  his  proposal,  which  Mere  Lunde  accepted  with 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"God  is  good,"  she  said,  crossing  herself  devoutly. 
"Father  Meurin  said  I  must  have  faith,  and  something 
would  come.  Oh,  how  can  I  thank  you!  Yes,  I  will 
gladly  keep  your  house,  and  care  for  the  child,  and 
strive  to  please  you  every  way.  Oh,  it  is,  indeed,  the 
best  of  fortune  to  happen  to  me,  when  life  had  begun 
to  look  lone  and  drear." 

"To-morrow,  then,  we  will  begin  to  clear  up." 

"Yes ;  to-morrow,"  she  replied  cheerfully. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  NEW  HOME. 

IN  after  years,  when  Renee  de  Longueville  looked 
back  at  what  seemed  the  real  beginning  of  her  life, 
everything  about  the  old  town  was  enveloped  in  a  cu 
rious  glamour.  For  it  was  all  abloom.  Such  flowers, 
such  great  trees  in  pink  and  white,  such  fragrance 
everywhere,  and  everybody  moving  to  and  fro,  as  if 
impelled  by  some  strange  power.  What  were  they  all 
doing?  And  the  children  were  so  merry.  To  a  little 
girl  who  had  been  mewed  up  in  an  old  chateau,  rather 
gloomy  at  that,  and  no  one  about  but  elderly  servants, 
the  transition  was  mysterious,  quite  beyond  the  child's 
depth.  But  she  felt  the  new  life  in  every  limb,  in  every 
nerve,  and  she  was  full  of  joy. 

The  streets  of  the  old  town,  if  not  wide,  were  com 
paratively  straight ;  those  running  along  'the  river  the 
longest,  those  stretching  up  to  the  fort  only  a  few 
squares.  Nearly  every  homestead  had  its  separate  lot 
or  garden,  enclosed  by  some  sort  of  rude  fence.  Out 
side  were  the  fields,  cultivated  largely  in  common ; 
woodlands  and  an  immense  prairie  stretching  out  to 
the  northwest.  Beside  the  fort  were  several  towers  in 
which  ammunition  was  stored,  although  the  Spanish 
government  had  a  great  fancy  for  building  these. 

Gaspard  Denys  was  very  busy  cleaning  up  his  place 
and  making  some  alterations.  In  his  heart  he  began 
to  feel  quite  like  a  family  man.  Most  of  the  stores 


A   NEW    HOME  31 

were  kept  in  the  residences,  except  those  down  on  the 
levee.  The  people  seldom  suffered  from  depredations. 
Their  treatment  of  the  Indians  was  uniformly  honor 
able,  and  they  kept  them  as  much  as  possible  from  the 
use  of  ardent  spirits.  The  slaves  were  happy  in  their 
lot.  Indeed,  a  writer  in  early  eighteen  hundred  speaks 
of  the  town  as  arcadian  in  its  simplicity  and  kindliness 
to  its  dependents.  Women  never  worked  in  the  fields, 
and  much  of  the  housework  was  done  by  the  slaves 
and  Indian  women.  Holidays  were  frequent,  in  which 
all  joined.  In  the  summer,  out-of-doors  sports  and 
dances  often  took  place,  very  much  like  modern  pic 
nics,  at  which  one  frequently  saw  parties  of  Indians. 
There  were  no  hostelries;  but  if  a  stranger  came  in 
town  he  was  sheltered  and  treated  to  the  best.  Hos 
pitality  was  considered  one  of  the  first  duties. 

There  was  one  large  room  in  the  log  part  of  the 
house,  but  Denys  resolved  to  build  another.  His  little 
girl  should  have  a  place  of  her  very  own,  and  from  time 
to  time  he  would  find  adornments  for  it.  Here  she 
should  grow  to  womanhood.  Antoine  Freneau  was 
not  a  young  man  when  he  had  married;  and  though 
people  who  did  not  meet  with  accidents  lived  to  a  good 
old  age,  he  was  old  already.  He  always  pleaded  pov 
erty,  though  he  did  considerable  dickering  in  the  way 
of  trade,  and  it  was  surmised  that  his  business  dealings 
would  not  stand  honest  scrutiny,  and  his  unsocial 
habits  did  not  endear  him  to  the  joyous  community. 
Still,  whatever  he  had  left  would  come  to  Renee.  He, 
Denys,  would  make  sure  of  that. 

Renee  soon  became  domesticated  with  the  Renauds. 
Elise  and  Sophie  played  about  most  of  the  time,  and 
were  jolly,  laughing  little  girls.  Twice  a  week  they 
went  to  the  house  of  the  good  Father  Lemoine,  who 


32          A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

taught  them  to  read  and  write  and  gave  them  some 
knowledge  of  mathematics,  which  was  quite  necessary 
in  trading.  Twice  a  week  the  boys  went,  and  on  Sat 
urday  they  repeated  the  catechism  orally. 

Denys  called  in  a  little  help ;  but  every  man  was  his 
own  builder,  with  some  cordial  neighborly  assistance. 
So  they  raised  the  posts  and  studding,  and  fastened 
the  cross  ties — round  on  the  outside,  the  smooth  part, 
or  middle,  going  on  the  inside.  The  interstices  were 
filled  with  mortar  made  of  tough  grass  and  clay  that 
hardened  easily.  Sometimes  this  was  plastered  on  the 
inside,  but  oftener  blankets  were  hung,  which  gave  a 
bright  and  cheerful  appearance,  and  warmth  in  winter. 

The  stone  part  was  cleared  up  and  put  in  order.  It 
had  a  big  chimney,  part  of  which  was  in  the  adjoin 
ing  room.  Denys  spread  about  quantities  of  sweet 
grass  to  neutralize  the  musty  smell;  though  the  clear, 
beautiful  air,  with  its  mingled  perfumes,  was  doing 
that.  On  the  shelves  he  spread  some  of  his  wares, 
implements  of  different  sorts  were  ranged  about  the 
walls.  Near  the  door  was  a  counter;  back  of  it  two 
iron-bound  chests,  very  much  battered,  that  he  had 
bought  with  the  place  and  the  small  store  of  goods 
from  the  family  of  the  dead  owner.  These  held  his 
choicest  treasures,  many  of  which  he  had  brought  from 
Quebec,  which  were  to  please  the  ladies. 

The  voyages  up  and  down  the  river  were  often 
tedious,  and  sometimes  the  traders  were  attacked  by 
river  pirates,  who  hid  in  caves  along  the  banks  and 
drew  their  boats  up  out  of  sight  when  not  needed. 
Peltries  and  lead  went  down  to  New  Orleans,  wheat 
and  corn  and  imported  articles  were  returned.  There 
were  some  troublesome  restrictions,  and  about  as  much 
came  overland  from  Detroit. 


A   NEW   HOME  33 

If  Renee  made  friends  with  the  Renaud  household, 
they  had  no  power  to  win  her  from  Uncle  Gaspard. 
They  had  insisted  on  his  accepting  their  hospitality, 
though  he  devoted  most  of  his  time  to  the  work  he  was 
hurrying  forward.  Now  and  then  he  came  just  at 
dusk  and  spent  the  night,  but  was  always  oft"  early  in 
the  morning  before  Renee  was  up. 

She  often  ran  up  the  street,  sometimes  reaching  the 
house  before  he  started.  The  children  were  ready 
enough  to  go  with  her,  but  she  liked  best  to  be  alone. 
She  had  a  curious,  exclusive  feeling  about  him,  young 
as  she  was. 

"But  he  is  not  your  true  uncle,"  declared  Elise,  one 
day  when  she  had  laid  her  claim  rather  strenuously. 
"Mamma  said  so.  Your  uncles  have  to  be  real  rela 
tions." 

"But  he  said  when  we  were  in  Quebec  that  he  was 
my  uncle — that  I  was  to  be  his  little  girl,"  was  the 
defiant  rejoinder. 

"And  if  your  gran'pere  had  not  agreed?" 

"I  would  never  have  stayed  there.  It  makes  me 
shiver  now.  I  would — yes,  I  would  have  run  away." 

"He  is  not  like  our  gran'pere,  who  is  a  lovely  old 
man,  living  up  by  the  Government  House.  And  gran'- 
mere  gives  us  delightful  little  cakes  when  we  go  there. 
And  there  are  uncles  and  aunts,  real  ones.  Barbe  is 
our  aunt." 

Renee's  small  heart  swelled  with  pride  and  a  sense 
of  desolation.  She  had  gathered  already  that  Grand 
papa  Freneau  was  not  at  all  respected ;  and  there  were 
moments  when  she  felt  the  solitariness  of  her  life — the 
impression  that  she  had  in  some  sense  been  cast  off. 

"But  my  father  is  at  the  palace  of  the  King  of 
France.  He  came  to  see  me  on  an  elegant  horse,  and 


34          A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

his  clothes  were  splendid.  And  there  are  two  little 
brothers.  Oh,  such  fine  people  as  there  are  in  Paris." 

That  extinguished  the  little  girls.  It  was  true  that 
now  the  French  had  gotten  over  their  soreness  about 
the  transfer.  They  never  meddled  with  politics,  but 
they  still  loved  the  old  flag.  The  Spanish  governors 
had  been  judicious  men  thus  far. 

So  that  night  Renee  slipped  out  from  the  supper 
table  and  sped  like  a  little  sprite  along  the  Rue  Royale, 
and  then  up  the  Rue  de  Rive.  The  moon  was  coming 
over  the  river  with  a  pale  light,  as  if  she  was  not 
quite  ready  for  full  burning.  She  heard  the  sounds  of 
hammering,  and  rushed  in  the  open  doorway. 

"Well,  little  one!  Your  eyes  are  so  bright  that  if 
you  were  an  Indian  girl  I  should  call  you  Evening 
Star." 

"I  wanted  to  see  you  so,"  in  a  breathless  fashion. 

"What  has  happened?" 

"Why,  nothing.     Only  the  day  seemed  so  long." 

"You  went  to  the  father's  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  rather  indifferently. 

"Why  didn't  you  run  over  then?  You  might  have 
taken  supper  with  me." 

"Because — there  were  Elise  and  Sophie." 

"But  there  was  supper  enough  to  go  round.  We 
had  some  fine  broiled  fish.  Mere  Lunde  is  an  excellent 
cook." 

"Oh,  when  can  I  come  to  stay?"  Her  tone  was  full 
of  entreaty,  and  her  eyes  soft  with  emotion. 

"But — you  won't  have  any  little  girls  to  play  with." 

"I  don't  want  any  one  but  you." 

He  had  paused  from  his  work,  and  now  she  sprang 
to  him  and  encircled  him  as  far  as  she  could  with  her 
small  arms. 


A  NEW   HOME  35 

"You  are  not  homesick?"  It  would  be  strange,  in 
deed,  since  she  had  never  had  a  true  home. 

"I  don't  know.  That,"  giving  her  head  a  turn,  "is 
not  my  real  home." 

"Oh,  no.  But  they  have  all  been  good  to  you. 
Ma'm'selle  Barbe  is  very  fond  of  you." 

"Oh,  everybody  is  good  and  kind.  Even  Louis, 
though  he  teases.  And  Pere  Renaud.  But  not  one  of 
them  is  you — you" 

"My  little  girl !"  He  stooped  over  and  hugged  her, 
kissed  her  fondly.  The  child's  love  was  so  innocent, 
so  sincere,  that  it  brought  again  the  hopes  of  youth. 

"And  you  will  always  keep  me — always?"  There 
was  a  catch  in  her  breath  like  a  sob. 

"Why,  yes.  What  has  any  one  said  to  you?"  with 
a  slight  touch  of  indignation. 

"Sophie  said  you  were  not  my  own  uncle.  What 
would  make  you  so?  Can  you  never  be?" 

There  was  a  pathos  in  her  tone  that  touched  him 
to  the  heart,  even  as  he  smiled  at  her  childish  igno 
rance,  and  was  wild  to  have  the  past  undone. 

"My  dear,  you  can  hardly  understand.  I  must  have 
been  your  mother's  brother." 

"Oh,  then  you  would  have  belonged  to  that  hateful 
old  man !"  and  she  gave  her  foot  a  quick  stamp.  "No, 
I  should  not  want  you  to." 

He  laughed  softly.  He  would  have  been  glad 
enough  to  belong  to  the  hateful  old  man  years  ago, 
and  belong  to  the  child  as  well. 

"It  doesn't  matter,  little  one,"  he  said  tenderly.  "I 
shall  be  your  uncle  all  my  life  long.  Don't  bother  your 
head  about  relationships.  Come,  see  your  room.  It 
will  soon  be  dry,  and  then  you  shall  take  possession." 

It  had  been  whitewashed,  and  the  puncheon  floor — 


36  A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

laid  in  most  houses,  it  being  difficult  to  get  flat  boards 
— stained  a  pretty  reddish  color.  The  window  had  a 
curtain  hung  to  it,  some  of  the  Canadian  stuff.  One 
corner  had  been  partitioned  off  for  a  closet.  There 
was  a  box,  with  a  curtain  tacked  around  it,  and  a 
white  cover  over  it,  to  do  duty  as  a  dressing-table. 
There  were  two  rustic  chairs,  and  some  pretty  Indian 
basket-like  pouches  had  been  hung  around. 

"Oh,  oh!"  she  cried  in  delight.  "Why,  it  is  as 
pretty  as  Ma'm'selle  Barbe's — almost  as  pretty,"  cor 
recting  herself.  "And  can  I  not  come  at  once?" 

"There  must  be  a  bed  for  you  to  sleep  on,  though 
we  might  sling  a  hammock." 

"And  Mere  Lunde?" 

"Come  through  and  see." 

In  one  corner  of  this,  which  was  the  ordinary  living 
room,  was  a  sort  of  pallet,  a  long  box  with  a  cover,  in 
which  Mere  Lunde  kept  her  own  belongings,  with  a 
mattress  on  the  top,  spread  over  with  a  blanket,  an 
swering  for  a  seat  as  well.  She  had  despoiled  her 
little  cottage,  for  Gaspard  Denys  had  said,  "It  is  a 
home  for  all  the  rest  of  your  life  if  you  can  be  content," 
and  she  had  called  down  the  blessings  of  the  good  God 
upon  him.  So,  here  were  shelves  with  her  dishes, 
some  that  her  mother  had  brought  over  to  New  Or 
leans  as  a  bride ;  china  and  pewter,  and  coarse  earthen 
ware  acquired  since,  and  queer  Indian  jars,  and  baskets 
stiffened  with  a  kind  of  clay  that  hardened  in  the  heat 
ing. 

"Welcome,  little  one,"  she  exclaimed  cheerfully. 
"The  good  uncle  gets  ready  the  little  nest  for  thee. 
And  soon  we  shall  be  a  family  indeed." 

She  lighted  a  torch  and  stood  it  in  the  corner,  and 
smiled  upon  Renee. 


A    NEW    HOME  37 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  so  glad  to  come!"  cried  the  child 
joyfully.  "And  my  room  is  so  pretty." 

She  looked  with  eager  eyes  from  one  to  the  other. 

"And  the  garden  is  begun.  There  are  vines  planted 
by  ma'm'selle's  window.  In  a  month  one  will  not 
know  the  place.  And  it  is  near  to  the  church  and  the 
good  father's  house." 

"But  I  wouldn't  mind  if  it  was  a  desert,  so  long 
as  you  both  were  here,"  she  replied  enthusiastically. 

"We  must  go  back,  little  one.  They  will  wonder 
about  you.  Just  be  patient  awhile." 

"And  thou  hast  no  cap,"  said  Mere  Lunde. 

"Oh,  that  does  not  matter;  the  night  is  warm. 
Adieu,"  taking  the  hard  hand  in  her  soft  one.  Then 
she  danced  away  and  caught  Gaspard's  arm. 

"Let  us  walk  about  a  little,"  she  pleaded.  "The 
moon  is  so  beautiful."  If  they  went  direct  to  the  Re- 
nauds',  he  would  sit  on  the  gallery  and  talk  to  Barbe. 

"Which  way  ?"  pausing,  looking  up  and  down. 

"Oh,  toward  the  river.  The  moon  makes  it  look 
like  a  silver  road.  And  it  is  never  still  except  at 
night." 

That  was  true  enough.  Business  ended  at  the  old- 
fashioned  supper  time.  There  was  one  little  French 
tavern  far  up  the  Rue  Royale,  near  the  Locust  Street 
of  to-day;  but  the  conviviality  of  friends,  which  was 
mostly  social,  took  place  at  home,  out  on  the  wide 
porches,  where  cards  were  played  for  amusement.  The 
Indians  had  dispersed.  A  few  people  were  strolling 
about,  and  some  flat  boats  were  moored  at  the  dock, 
almost  indistinguishable  in  the  shade.  The  river 
wound  about  with  a  slow,  soft  lapping,  every  little  crest 
and  wavelet  throwing  up  a  sparkling  gem  and  then 
sweeping  it  as  quickly  away. 

From  here  one  could  see  out  to  both  ends.      The 


38         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

semi-circular  gates  terminated  at  the  river's  edge,  and 
at  each  a  cannon  was  planted  and  kept  in  readiness  for 
use.  Now  and  then  there  would  be  vague  rumors 
about  the  English  on  the  opposite  shore.  The  new 
stockade  of  logs  and  clay  surmounted  by  pickets  was 
slowly  replacing  the  worn-out  one. 

Renee  was  fain  to  linger,  with  her  childish  prattle 
and  touching  gestures  of  devotion.  How  the  child 
loved  him  already!  That  a  faint  tint  of  jealousy  had 
been  kindled  would  have  amused  him  if  he  had  sus 
pected  it. 

When  they  turned  back  in  the  Rue  Royale  they  met 
M.  Renaud  enjoying  his  pipe. 

"Ah,  truant!"  he  exclaimed;  "they  were  beginning 
to  feel  anxious  about  you.  Barbe  declared  you  might 
stay  all  night.  Was  it  not  true  you  had  threatened?" 

"They  would  not  have  me,"  she  returned  laughingly, 
her  heart  in  a  glow  over  the  thought  that  when  she  did 
stay  permanently,  there  would  be  no  need  of  Uncle 
Gaspard  going  to  the  Renauds'. 

"Was  that  it?"  rather  gayly.  "The  girls  will  miss 
thee.  They  are  very  fond  of  thee,  Renee  de  Longue- 
ville." 

Then  Renee's  heart  relented  with  the  quick  compunc 
tion  of  childhood. 

"M.  Laclede's  fleet  of  keel  boats  will  be  up  shortly, 
I  heard  to-day.  The  town  must  give  him  a  hearty 
welcome.  What  a  man  he  is!  What  energy  and 
forethought !  A  little  more  than  twenty  years  and  we 
have  grown  to  this,  where  there  was  nothing  but  a 
wild.  Denys,  there  is  a  man  for  you !" 

"Fort  Chartres  helped  it  along.  I  was  but  a  boy 
when  we  came  over.  My  mother  is  buried  there,  and 
it  almost  broke  my  father's  heart  to  leave  her." 


A   NEW   HOME  39 

"Those  hated  English!"  said  Renaud,  almost  under 
his  breath.  "The  colonies  have  revolted,  it  is  said.  I 
should  be  glad  to  see  them  driven  out  of  the  country." 

"Yes,  I  heard  the  talk  at  Quebec  and  more  of  it  as 
I  came  down  the  lakes.  But  the  country  is  so  big, 
why  cannot  each  take  a  piece  in  content?  Do  you 
ever  think  we  may  be  driven  out  to  the  wilderness?" 

"And  find  the  true  road  to  India?"  with  a  short 
laugh.  "Strange  stories  are  told  by  some  of  the  hunt 
ers  of  inaccessible  mountains.  And  what  is  beyond 
no  one  knows,"  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

No  one  knew  whether  the  gold-fields  of  La  Salle's 
wild  dreams  lay  in  that  direction  or  not.  There  were 
vague  speculations.  Parties  had  started  and  never 
returned.  The  hardy  pioneers  turned  their  steps 
northward  for  furs.  And  many  who  heard  these  wild 
dreams  in  their  youth,  half  a  century  later  crossed  the 
well-nigh  inaccessible  mountains  and  found  the  gold. 
And  before  the  century  was  much  older  ships  were 
on  their  way  to  the  East  of  dream  and  fable. 

Barbe  and  Madame  Renaud  were  out  on  the  porch 
in  the  moonlight,  and  it  was  very  bright  now.  Denys 
would  not  stay,  and  soon  said  good-night  to  them, 
going  back  to  his  work  by  a  pine  torch. 

Renee  counted  the  days,  and  every  one  seemed  longer. 
But  at  last  the  joyful  news  came. 

"We  shall  run  over  often,"  declared  Sophie,  who  had 
a  fondness  for  the  little  girl  in  spite  of  childish  tiffs. 

Renee  was  busy  enough  placing  her  little  store  of 
articles  about,  discovering  new  treasures,  running  to 
and  fro,  and  visiting  Mere  Lunde,  who  had  a  word 
of  welcome  every  time  she  came  near. 

"It  will  be  a  different  house,  petite,"  she  said,  with 
her  kindly  smile. 


40          A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

The  garden  could  not  compare  with  the  Renauds'  in 
the  glory  of  its  gay  flower-beds.  Two  slaves  of  a 
neighbor — they  were  often  borrowed  for  a  trifle — were 
working  at  it.  A  swing  had  been  put  up  for  the  little 
lady. 

But  somehow,  when  the  afternoon  began  to  length 
en,  when  Uncle  Gaspard  had  gone  up  to  the  Govern 
ment  House  on  some  business,  and  Mere  Lunde  was 
in  a  sound  doze  over  the  stocking  she  was  knitting, 
Renee  felt  strangely  solitary.  She  missed  the  gay  chat 
of  Madame  Renaud  and  her  sister  and  the  merriment 
of  the  children.  There  seemed  none  immediately  about 
here.  She  strolled  around  to  the  front  of  the  store; 
the  door  was  locked,  and  it  looked  rather  dreary. 

She  was  glad  to-morrow  was  the  day  for  the  classes 
to  meet.  Why,  it  was  almost  as  lonesome  as  at  the 
old  chateau ! 

That  evening  Uncle  Gaspard  brought  out  his  flute, 
which  filled  her  with  delight.  The  violin  was  the 
great  musical  instrument  in  St.  Louis — the  favorite  in 
all  the  French  settlements.  But  the  flute  had  such  a 
tender  tone,  such  a  mysterious  softness,  that  it  filled 
her  with  an  indescribable  joy.  And  there  was  none  of 
the  dreadful  tuning  that  rasped  her  nerves  and  made 
her  feel  as  if  she  must  scream. 

Then,  it  was  strange  to  sleep  alone  in  the  room  when 
she  had  been  with  Ma'm'selle  Barbe  and  the  two  girls. 
They  were  versed  in  Indian  traditions,  and  some  they 
told  over  were  not  pleasant  bed-time  visions.  But  the 
comfort  was  that  all  these  terrible  things  had  happened 
in  Michigan,  or  a  place  away  off,  called  New  England ; 
and  Sophie  did  not  care  what  the  Indians  did  to  the 
English  who  had  driven  them  out  of  the  settlements 
on  the  Illinois.  So,  why  should  she?  She  was  still 


A    NEW   HOME  41 

more  of  a  French  girl,  because  she  was  born  in 
France. 

But  the  world  looked  bright  and  cheery  the  next 
morning,  and  the  breakfast  was  delightful,  sitting  on 
the  side  toward  Uncle  Gaspard,  and  having  Mere 
Lunde  opposite,  with  her  gay  coif  and  her  red  plaid 
kerchief  instead  of  the  dull  gray  one.  Her  small, 
wrinkled  face  was  a  pleasant  one,  though  her  eyes  were 
faded,  for  her  teeth  were  still  white  and  even,  and  her 
short  upper  lip  frequently  betrayed  them.  She  poured 
the  coffee  and  passed  the  small  cakes  of  bread,  which 
were  quite  as  good  as  Madame  Renaud's. 

The  lines  were  not  strictly  drawn  in  those  days  be 
tween  masters  and  servants.  And  Mere  Lunde  had 
been  her  own  mistress  for  so  many  years  that  she  pos 
sessed  the  quiet  dignity  of  independence. 

Then  Renee  inspected  her  room  afresh,  ran  out  of 
doors  and  gathered  a  few  flowers,  as  she  had  seen 
Ma'm'selle  Barbe  do.  She  ventured  to  peep  into 
Uncle  Gaspard's  abode. 

"Come  in,  come  in!"  he  cried  cheerily.  "There  is 
no  one  to  buy  you  up,  like  a  bale  of  merchandise." 

"But — you  wouldn't  sell  me?"  Her  eyes  had  a 
laughing  light  in  them,  her  voice  a  make-believe  en 
treaty,  and  altogether  she  looked  enchanting. 

"Well,  it  would  take  a  great  deal  of  something  to 
buy  you.  It  would  have  to  be  more  valuable  than 
money.  I  don't  care  so  much  for  money  myself." 

He  put  his  arm  about  her  and  hugged  her  up  close. 
He  was  sitting  at  a  massive  old  desk  that  he  had 
bought  with  the  place.  It  seemed  crowded  full  of 
various  articles. 

"But  you  love  me  better  than  any  one  else?" 

"Any  one  else?       Does  that  mean  ever  so  many 


42          A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

people  love  you?  The  Renaud  children,  and  Ma'm'- 
selle  Barbe,  and — perhaps — your  grandfather?" 

"Oh,  you  know  I  don't  mean  that!"  Her  cheek 
flushed  with  a  dainty  bit  of  vexation.  The  others  like 
me  well  enough,  but  you — how  much  do  you  love  me?" 

"The  best  of  any  one.  Child,  I  do  not  think  you  will 
ever  understand  how  dear  you  are  to  me.  There  is  no 
measurement  for  such  love." 

That  was  the  confession  she  wanted.  Her  face  was 
radiant  with  delight — a  child's  pleasure  in  the  present 
satisfaction. 

She  glanced  around.  "Do  you  mean  to  sell  all  these 
things?"  she  asked  wonderingly. 

"Oh,  yes  and  many  more.  I  ought  to  be  down  on 
the  Rue  Royale,  where  people  could  find  me  easily. 
But  I  took  a  fancy  to  this  old  place,  and  the  man  was 
in  my  debt ;  so  he  paid  me  with  it.  It  would  not  be  so 
pleasant  to  live  down  there,  on  the  lower  side, 
by  the  levee.  But  I  shall  stay  here  and  wait  till  the 
people  come  to  me.  After  all,  for  a  few  years,  if  we 
get  enough  to  eat  and  a  little  to  wear,  it  will  suffice." 

"And  what  then?"  with  captivating  eagerness. 

"Why,  then — "  he  hesitated.  Why  should  he  think 
of  this  just  now?  He  did  not  want  her  grown  up  into 
a  charming  mademoiselle,  even  if  she  resembled  her 
mother  still  more  strongly. 

"Yes ;  what  then  ?  Isn't  it  just  the  same  afterward, 
or  do  people  come  to  a  time  when  they  stop  eating?" 
and  a  gleam  of  mischief  crossed  her  face. 

"That  is  at  the  end  of  life,  child — sixty  or  eighty 
years." 

"No,  I  don't  mean  that  time,"  with  a  shrug  and  a 
little  curl  of  the  lip.  "Maybe — after  a  few  years " 

"Well?"  in  amused  inquiry. 


A   NEW   HOME  43 

"You  might  go  to  New  Orleans  and  take  me.  Ma'm'- 
selle  Barbe  has  been,  and  she  says  it  is  so  beautiful 
and  gay." 

"And  you  have  been  half  over  the  world.  Ma'm'- 
selle  has  not  been  to  Quebec  nor  Detroit." 

"Oh,  that  is  true  enough,"  laughingly.  "Nor  to 
France." 

Two  customers  paused  at  the  door,  and  he  said, 
"Run  away,  dear."  So  she  went  obediently,  watched 
Mere  Lunde  at  her  work  awhile,  then  strolled  out  to 
the  garden  spot,  where  two  hired  slaves  were  working. 
What  should  make  them  so  different  from  white  peo 
ple  ?  Where  was  Africa  and  the  Guinea  Coast  that  she 
heard  spoken  of  at  the  Renauds'?  Their  lips  were 
so  thick  and  red  and  their  hair  so  woolly.  But  they 
seemed  very  merry,  though  she  could  not  understand 
a  word  they  said;  it  was  a  queer  patois. 

Uncle  Gaspard  came  out  presently.  "Wouldn't  you 
like  to  have  a  flower  garden?"  he  asked. 

"What  is  here?"  She  put  out  her  small  moccasined 
toe  toward  a  rather  stiff-looking  plot  of  green  plants. 

"Oh,  that  is  Mere  Lunde's  garden  of  herbs.  All 
manner  of  things  for  potage,  and  the  making  of  sundry 
remedies  in  which  she  has  great  faith.  She  will  look 
after  that." 

"And  must  I  look  after  mine?" 

"I  will  come  and  help  you." 

"Oh,  then,  I  will  have  a  garden!"  she  cried  joyfully. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  SOWING  OF  A  THORN. 

IT  was  only  a  short  distance  to  the  priest's  house, 
where  the  classes  met.  She  ran  off  by  herself.  There 
was  quite  a  throng  of  girls,  though,  as  with  most  of 
the  early  Western  settlers,  education  was  not  esteemed 
the  one  thing  needful  for  girls.  To  make  good  wives 
was  the  greatest  attainment  they  could  achieve.  Still, 
Father  Lemoine  labored  with  perseverance  at  the  til 
lage  of  their  brains  on  the  two  afternoons,  and  the 
tillage  of  their  souls  on  Saturday. 

After  the  two  hours  were  over  the  restless  children 
had  a  run  up  to  the  Fort.  The  Guions  there  were  Ma 
dame  Renaud's  relatives.  There  was  a  great  thicket 
of  roses  that  covered  the  line  of  palings,  and  some 
ladies  were  having  refreshments  under  a  sort  of  arbor, 
little  cakes  and  glasses  of  wine  much  diluted  with 
water. 

"Oh,  yes,  come  in,"  exclaimed  Sophie  as  Renee  hung 
back.  "You  have  been  here  before,  you  needn't  feel 
strange." 

That  was  true  enough.  Then  she  had  been  Sophie's 
guest.  Now  she  had  a  curious  hesitation. 

Elise  was  going  around  courtesying  to  the  ladies, 
and  answering  their  inquiries.  Sophie  stooped  to  play 
with  the  cat.  An  old  lady  nearest  Renee  handed  her  a 
plate  of  small  spiced  cakes. 

"You  have  gone  to  Monsieur  Denys,"  she  said  in  a 
soft  tone.  "He  is — "  raising  her  eyes  in  inquiry. 


THE  SOWING  OF  A  THORN  45 

"He  is  my  uncle."  Renee  made  a  graceful  little  cour 
tesy  as  she  said  this,  and  thanked  the  lady  for  the  cake. 

"I  suppose  M.  Denys  means  to  settle  down  now," 
said  another.  "It  is  high  time.  He  ought  to  marry. 
There  is  nothing  like  a  good  wife." 

"That  will  come  along,"  and  another  nodded  with  a 
mysterious  but  merry  smile.  "That  is  why  he  is  smart 
ening  up  so.  And  he  has  brought  some  elegant  stuffs 
from  Canada  to  dress  her  in  when  he  gets  her. 
Madame  Aubrey  was  in  yesterday  and  bought  of  him 
a  gown  for  Genevieve.  He  was  showing  her  some 
finery  that  would  adorn  a  bride.  I  think  we  shall  hear 
before  long." 

They  all  nodded  and  glanced  sidewise  from  Elise  to 
Sophie  as  if  they  might  have  something  to  do  with  it. 

"I  must  go,"  exclaimed  Renee,  her  face  flushing. 

"No,  wait,  I  am  not  ready,"  said  Sophie. 

But  Renee  courtesied  to  them  all  and  flashed  through 
the  rose-hung  entrance.  She  ran  swiftly  down  the 
street,  turned  the  corner  to  her  own  home,  and  entered 
the  gate.  Mere  Lunde  sat  at  the  doorway  knitting. 

"Where  is  Uncle  Gaspard?"  she  cried  breathlessly. 

"In  the  shop  chaffering.  They  have  found  him  out, 
you  see,  and  I  hope  the  good  Father  of  all  will  send  him 
prosperity,"  crossing  herself  devoutly. 

Renee  dropped  down  on  the  doorstep.  Her  child's 
heart  was  in  a  tumult.  Had  not  the  house  been  planned 
for  her,  and  the  pretty  room  made  especially?  Where 
would  he  put  a  wife?  His  small  place  in  the  corner 
of  the  shop,  hung  about  with  curtains,  was  not  fit,  since 
the  wife  would  be  Ma'm'selle  Barbe,  whose  pretty 
white  bed  had  fringed  hangings  that  she  had  learned 
to  knot  while  she  was  in  New  Orleans. 

"Why  do  you  sigh  so,  little  one?" 


46          A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

Renee  could  not  contain  her  anxiety. 

"O  ma  mere,  do  you  think  Uncle  Gaspard  will 
marry?"  she  cried  with  passionate  vehemence.  "Will 
he  bring  a  wife  here  to  live  with  us?" 

"What  has  put  such  a  thing  in  thy  head,  child? 
Surely  the  good  priest  would  not  venture  to  suggest 
that  to  thee !" 

"It  was  in  the  Guions'  garden.  I  went  there  with 
the  girls.  And  some  one  said  he  had  fixed  the  house 
for  that,  and  they  smiled  and  I  knew  who  they 
meant." 

She  wiped  some  tears  from  her  hot  cheek. 

"Who  was  it?"  the  dame  asked  simply. 

"Who  should  it  be  but  Ma'm'selle  Barbe!  Oh,  I 
could  guess  who  they  thought  would  come." 

"Ma'm'selle  is  a  pretty  girl  and  sweet  tempered. 
She  has  a  dot,  too,"  said  the  placid  woman.  "But  then 
I  think " 

Renee  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears,  and  springing  up 
stamped  on  the  ground. 

"She  shall  not  come  here!"  she  cried  vehemently. 
"She  shall  not  have  Uncle  Gaspard!  Oh,  why  did  he 
go  clear  to  Canada  for  me,  why  did  he  bring  me  here  ?" 

"There  was  your  gran'pere " 

"But  he  doesn't  want  me.    No  one  wants  me!" 

"Chut!  chut!  little  one.  Do  not  get  in  such  a  pas 
sion.  Surely  a  child  could  not  help  it  if  it  was  to  be 
so.  But  now  that  I  think  the  matter  over,  he  said 
I  must  come,  as  there  would  be  no  one  here  to  look 
after  you,  and  that  your  gran'pere's  was  no  place  for 
you.  Truly,  it  is  not,  if  the  whispers  about  him  are 
well  grounded.  It  is  said  the  river  pirates  gather 
there.  And  he  goes  away  for  weeks  at  a  time.  No,  I 
do  not  believe  M.  Denys  means  to  marry." 


THE  SOWING  OF  A  THORN  47 

''Oh,  truly?  truly?"  Renee  flung  her  arms  about  the 
woman's  neck.  "Say  again  you  do  not  believe  it." 

Every  pulse  was  throbbing,  and  her  breath  came  in 
tangled  gasps.  The  woman's  tranquillity  rasped  her. 

"Nay,  he  would  have  planned  different.  And 
Ma'm'selle  Barbe  has  young  admirers.  Ah,  you  should 
have  seen  her  at  Christmas  and  Epiphany!  She  was 
chosen  Queen,  she  had  one  of  the  lucky  beans.  She 
would  hardly  want  so  grave  a  man.  All  young  things 
love  pleasure,  and  it  is  right ;  care  comes  fast  enough." 

And  now  Renee  remembered  that  a  young  man  had 
spent  evenings  with  his  violin,  and  they  two  had  sat 
out  on  the  gallery.  But  she  could  not  divest  her  mind 
of  the  curious  sort  of  suspicion  that  Barbe  cared  very 
much  for  Uncle  Gaspard. 

"No,  no,"  went  on  Mere  Lunde.  "People  gossip. 
They  often  mate  two  who  have  no  such  intention.  Dry 
thy  eyes,  petite,  and  laugh  again.  There  has  a  robin 
built  in  the  beech  near  thy  window,  and  now  I  think 
there  are  young  ones  in  the  nest.  I  heard  them  cry 
for  food.  And  the  father  bird  goes  singing  about  as  if 
he  wanted  to  tell  the  news.  It  is  pleasanter  than  thine." 

Renee  smiled  then.  Yes,  if  the  young  man  loved, 
ma'm'selle.  How  they  had  laughed  and  talked.  Per 
haps — and  yet  she  was  not  quite  satisfied. 

But  she  went  out  and  glanced  up  at  the  tree.  Yes, 
there  was  a  nest,  and  a  funny,  peeping  sound,  a  rustle 
in  the  branches. 

The  path  had  been  packed  clear  down  to  the  gate. 
Some  garden  beds  were  laid  out,  and  the  neglected 
grass  trimmed  up.  It  began  to  look  quite  pretty.  If 
there  was  something  to  do,  to  keep  away  thoughts. 

"Mere  Lunde,  will  you  teach  me  to  knit?"  she  asked 
suddenly. 


48         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"And  sew,  child.    A  woman  needs  that." 

"I  can  sew  a  little.     But  I  have  nothing  to  sew." 

"That  will  be  provided  if  you  wish  for  it.  I  think 
your  uncle  will  be  glad.  I  have  heard  that  where  there 
are  holy  Sisters  they  teach  girls,  but  we  have  none  here. 
And  now  you  may  help  me  get  the  supper." 

That  tended  to  divert  her  troubled  thoughts.  And 
then  Uncle  Gaspard  came  in  with  a  guest  and  the  meal 
was  a  very  merry  one.  Afterward  the  two  sat  over 
the  desk  busy  with  writing  and  talking  until  she  was 
sleepy  and  went  to  bed. 

She  studied  Uncle  Gaspard  furtively  the  next  morn 
ing.  He  asked  about  the  school,  and  said  in  the  after 
noon  they  would  take  a  walk,  and  this  morning  she  had 
better  go  to  market  with  Mere  Lunde. 

She  found  that  quite  an  entertainment.  The  old 
market  was  not  much,  a  little  square  with  some  stalls, 
all  kept  by  old  women,  it  seemed.  One  had  cakes,  the 
croquecignolles,  the  great  favorite  with  everybody.  A 
curious  kind  of  dry  candied  fruit,  and  a  sausage  roll 
that  the  men  and  boys  from  the  levees  bought  and  de 
voured  with  hearty  relish.  Then  there  was  a  stall  of 
meats  and  a  portly  butcher  in  a  great  white  gown. 
Some  of  the  stands  were  there  only  two  or  three  days 
in  the  week.  Most  of  the  inhabitants  looked  out  for 
their  own  stores,  but  there  were  the  boatmen  and  the 
fur  traders,  and  the  voyageurs.  There  was  but  one 
bake  shop,  so  the  market  stall  was  well  patronized. 

Some  one  called  to  Renee  as  she  neared  her  own  cor 
ner,  and  she  turned.  It  was  a  little  girl  she  had  seen 
in  the  class  at  the  priest's  house. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come  here  to  live,"  she  began. 

"Your  name  is  Renee  de  Long " 

"Renee  de  Longueville,"  with  a  touch  of  formality. 


THE  SOWING  OF  A  THORN  49 

"And  mine  is  Rosalie  Pichou.  I  live  just  down  in 
the  street  below.  I  have  five  brothers  and  not  one  sis 
ter.  How  many  have  you  ?" 

"None  at  all." 

"Oh,  I  shouldn't  like  that.  And  I  am  always  wishing 
for  a  sister.  But  one  of  my  brothers  will  be  married 
shortly,  only  he  is  not  coming  home  to  live." 

"Do  you  like  him  to  marry?" 

"Oh,  yes,  we  shall  have  a  gay  time  and  a  feast.  And 
then  there  will  be  the  new  house  to  visit.  Andre  is 
just  twenty-one,  Pierre  is  eighteen,  Jules  sixteen,  and 
I  am  twelve.  I  am  larger  and  older  than  you." 

They  had  walked  up  to  the  gate.  Mere  Lunde  stood 
by  it.  "Will  you  not  come  in  and  see  Renee?"  she 
asked,  on  the  child's  behalf. 

"Oh,  yes,"  was  the  frank  answer.  "I  came  to  see  the 
new  room  when  M.  Denys  was  building  it.  Oh,  how 
pretty  you  have  it!"  in  an  almost  envious  tone. 

"But  then  you  can  have  all.  At  home,  there  are  two 
little  boys  to  provide  for,  and  I  think  boys  are  always 
hungry.  Jules  gets  lots  of  game,  he  is  such  a  good 
shot.  Oh,  I  have  such  a  pretty  cat  and  a  kitten.  I  won 
der  if  you  would  like  the  kitten?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Mere  Lunde.  "A  cat  is  a  comfortable 
creature  to  have  about,  and  a  kitten  full  of  play,  merci ! 
One  never  tires  of  her  pranks.  You  will  like  it,  Renee  ?" 

The  child's  eyes  shone  with  delight. 

"And  your  mother  will  let  you  bestow  it?"  the  mere 
asked  tentatively. 

"Oh,  yes.  You  see,  there  are  two  dogs  and  a  tame 
squirrel,  and  Jules  is  always  bringing  home  something. 
Ma  mere  scolds  about  it.  And  Jules  is  afraid  the  kitten 
may  get  at  his  birds.  Oh,  yes,  you  can  have  it  without 
doubt.  I'll  run  and  fetch  it  now."  . 


50         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

Rosalie  was  back  before  she  had  time  to  go  even 
one  way,  Renee  thought.  A  beautiful  striped  gray  kit 
ten,  with  a  very  cunning  face.  A  fine  black  stripe  went 
from  the  outer  corner  of  the  eyes  to  his  ears,  and  gave 
him  the  appearance  of  wearing  spectacles,  which 
amused  Renee  very  much.  Then  they  talked  about  the 
class. 

"I  hate  to  study,"  declared  Rosalie.  "And  reading 
is  such  slow  work  when  you  don't  understand.  But  it 
is  beginning  to  be  the  fashion,  ma  mere  says,  and  pres 
ently  people  will  be  despised  if  they  do  not  know  how 
to  read.  I  like  the  sums  best.  You  can  say  them  after 
the  Father  and  not  bother  your  brains.  And  that's 
why  I  don't  mind  the  catechism.  It  isn't  like  picking 
the  words  out  of  a  page." 

"I  can  read  quite  well,"  said  Renee,  with  a  little  pride. 
"And  I  like  it." 

"I  can  make  netting  and  knit  stockings  and  am  learn 
ing  to  cook.  Oh,  I  must  go  home  at  once  and  help 
ma  mere  with  the  dinner.  She  told  me  not  to  stay,  and 
that  I  was  to  ask  you  to  visit  me.  Come  soon,"  and 
she  made  a  pretty  gesture  of  farewell. 

Renee  picked  up  the  kitten.  It  was  very  tame,  and 
made  believe  bite  her  hand.  Then  it  gave  a  sudden 
spring. 

"Oh,  it  will  run  away !"  cried  Renee  in  alarm. 

But  one  of  the  men  in  the  garden  caught  it  and  gave 
it  back  to  her. 

"Let  us  make  him  eat  something.  Then  he  will  wash 
his  face  and  stay.  And  he  will  be  excellent  to  catch 
mice  in  the  shop.  They  destroy  the  skins  so." 

The  kitten  enjoyed  a  bit  of  meat.  Then  he  sat  down 
very  gravely  and  washed  his  face,  which  made  Renee 
laugh. 


THE  SOWING  OF  A  THORN  51 

Uncle  Gaspard  came  home  and  expressed  himself 
delighted  with  the  kitten.  He  was  fond  of  cats,  and 
had  been  thinking  of  one.  They  had  their  dinner,  and 
he  said  he  knew  the  Pichous  very  well,  and  was  glad 
Renee  had  a  playmate  so  near. 

Presently  they  went  out  for  their  walk.  Already 
Denys  had  explained  to  Mere  Lunde  the  prices  of  some 
of  the  ordinary  articles,  and  where  the  powder  and  shot 
were  kept,  so  that  she  might  provide  for  a  casual  cus 
tomer.  But  being  a  little  out  of  the  way,  trade  was 
not  likely  to  be  very  brisk. 

They  went  up  the  Rue  de  la  Place  and  out  at  the  side 
of  the  fort.  There  were  no  houses  save  here  and  there 
a  few  wigwams,  and  Indian  children  playing  about 
in  the  front  of  them.  Cultivated  fields  stretched  out. 
The  King's  Highway  marked  the  western  limit  of  the 
municipality ;  all  the  rest  was  the  King's  domain,  to  be 
granted  to  future  settlers.  There  was  the  wide  prairie, 
and  to  the  northward  the  great  mound.  They  mounted 
this,  and  then  they  could  see  up  the  winding  of  the 
river  to  the  chain  of  rocks,  and  the  Missouri  on  its  way 
to  join  the  greater  stream  and  be  merged  in  it.  Farther 
still,  vague  woodlands,  until  all  was  lost  in  dim  out 
lines  and  seemed  resting  against  the  sky. 

Gaspard  Denys  liked  this  far  view.  Sometimes  he 
had  thought  of  coming  out  here  and  losing  himself  in 
the  wilds,  turning  hunter  like  Blanchette  Chasseur,  as 
a  famous  hunting  friend  of  Pierre  Laclede's  was  called. 
North  of  the  Missouri  he  had  built  a  log  cabin  for  him 
self,  where  any  hunter  or  traveller  was  welcome  to  share 
his  hospitality.  Denys  himself  had  partaken  of  it. 

Now  he  wondered  a  little  if  he  had  been  wise  to 
choose  the  child  instead,  and  give  up  his  freedom.  Blan 
chette  had  also  established  a  post  at  Les  Pettites  Cotes, 


52         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

which  was  the  headquarters  for  many  rovers,  and  be 
came  the  nucleus  of  another  city.  He  was  fond  of 
adventures. 

But  if  he,  Denys,  had  married,  as  he  had  once 
dreamed !  Then  he  would  have  given  up  the  wild  life 
long  ago.  Then  there  would  have  been  home  and  love. 

"O  Uncle  Gaspard,"  Renee  cried,  "you  squeeze  my 
hand  so  tight.  And  you  walk  so  fast." 

He  paused  suddenly  and  gazed  down  in  the  flushed 
face,  the  eyes  humid  under  their  curling  lashes. 

"My  little  dear !"  and  his  heart  smote  him.  "Let  us 
sit  down  here  in  the  shade  of  this  clump  of  trees  and 
rest.  You  see,  I  never  had  a  little  girl  before,  and  for 
got  that  she  could  not  stride  with  my  long  legs." 

"And  I  am  so  thirsty." 

He  glanced  about.  "We  are  only  going  a  little 
farther,"  he  said,  "and  then  we  shall  find  a  splendid 
spring  and  something  to  eat.  Are  you  very  tired?" 

She  drew  a  long  breath  and  held  up  her  little  red 
hand. 

"Poor  hand !"  he  said  tenderly ,,  pressing  it  to  his  lips. 
"Poor  little  hand !" 

She  leaned  her  head  down  on  his  shoulder. 

"You  wouldn't  like  to  have  me  go  away?"  she  mur 
mured  plaintively. 

"Go  away?"  in  surprise.  "What  put  such  an  idea  in 
your  head?" 

"You  wouldn't  send  me?" 

Strange  these  thoughts  should  find  entrance  in  her 
mind  when  he  had  just  asked  himself  that  curious  ques 
tion  so  akin  to  it. 

"What  do  you  mean,  little  one  ?" 

"If — if  you  married — some  one — who  did  not  want 
me,"  in  so  desolate  i  tone  that  it  gave  him  a  pang. 


THE  SOWING  OF  A  THORN  53 

"But  I  am  not  going  to  marry  any  one." 

"Are  you  very,  very  sure?"  with  an  indrawn  breath. 

He  took  her  face  between  his  hands  suddenly  and 
turned  it  upward.  It  was  scarlet  and  tears  beaded  the 
long  lashes. 

"Come,"  he  said  in  soft  persuasion,  "what  is  behind 
all  this  ?  Who  has  been  talking  to  you  ?  If  it  is  Mere 
Lunde " 

"No — she  said  it  was  not  true." 

"Surely  that  little  Pichou  girl  is  not  a  mischief 
maker !  If  so,  she  must  keep  clear  of  us.  I  will  not 
have  you  tormented." 

Then  Renee  began  to  cry  softly  and  the  truth  came 
out  with  sobs. 

He  smiled,  and  yet  he  was  deeply  touched.  The  little 
thing  was  jealous.  Yet  was  it  not  true  that  he  was  all 
she  had  in  the  world  to  love,  and  that  no  one  had  really 
loved  her  until  he  came  into  her  life?  How  she  had 
trusted  him  back  there  in  Quebec  after  the  first  few 
hours ! 

Now  he  gathered  her  up  in  his  arms  as  if  she  been 
a  baby,  and  kissed  the  small  hot  face,  tasting  the  salt 
tears. 

"Little  one,"  he  began  in  a  tender,  comforting  tone, 
"set  your  heart  at  rest.  If  the  good  God  spares  us, 
there  will  be  many  pleasant  years  together,  I  hope.  I 
am  not  going  to  marry  any  one,  and  Ma'm'selle  Barbe 
has  a  fine  young  admirer.  She  doesn't  want  an  old 
fellow  like  me.  You  can't  understand  now,  but  when 
you  are  older  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story.  I  loved 
your  mother  and  your  grandfather  took  her  away,  mar 
ried  her  to  some  one  else.  That  is  why  you  are  so  dear 
to  me." 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  with  a  depth  of  feeling  that  sur- 


54         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

prised  him.  "Oh!"  Then  she  dropped  down  on  her 
knees  and  put  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  he  could 
feel  her  heart  beat  against  his  breast.  He  was  im 
measurably  impressed.  Could  she  understand  what 
that  meant? 

When  he  raised  her  face  it  was  sweet  and  grave  as 
that  of  an  older  person  might  have  been.  Then  she 
said  softly.  "I  shall  love  you  my  whole  life  long.  I 
shall  never  love  any  one  so  dearly." 

How  did  she  who  had  never  had  any  one  to  love  un 
derstand  affection  so  well  ?  Perhaps  because  it  is  nat 
ural  to  the  sex  to  own  something  it  can  adore,  and  yet 
the  little  Renaud  girls  liked  him  very  much,  but  there 
was  no  such  absorption  in  their  regard.  Ah,  he  was 
her  all.  They  had  the  natural  ties  of  childhood  on 
which  to  lavish  their  love.  Barbe — he  had  never 
thought  of  marrying  her,  though  he  had  seen  her  grow 
up  to  womanhood,  and  very  charming  at  that.  She 
was  for  some  younger  mate,  and  there  were  plenty  of 
them.  Pretty  girls,  nor  scarcely  any  girls,  went  begging 
in  the  new  countries.  They  were  tempting  enough 
without  much  dot 

And  that  her  little  heart  should  be  torn  by  jealousy ! 
He  could  have  smiled,  only  it  seemed  pitiful.  He 
pressed  her  closer,  sorry  any  innuendoes  should  have 
been  made  before  her. 

"Come,  dear,"  he  began  tenderly,  "we  have  not  fin 
ished  our  walk.  "Or  will  I  have  to  carry  you?" 

She  sprang  up  lightly,  her  face  all  abloom,  though 
her  long  lashes  still  glistened. 

"Oh,  no,  no,"  smilingly.  "But  you  have  carried  me — 
over  part  of  the  long  portage  when  I  was  so  tired,  and 
that  night  when  it  was  dark.  Oh,  how  big  and  strong 
you  are.  There  was  some  one  in  a  book  in  the  old 


THE  SOWING  OF  A  THORN  55 

chateau — I  have  nearly  forgotten,  who  was  strong  and 
brave.  Uncle  Gaspard,  why  haven't  you  any  books? 
The  little  ones  at  the  Father's  are  so  queer,  with  their 
short  sentences,  and  the  children  blunder  so.  I  like 
best  to  know  about  some  person.  Oh,  can't  we  all  tell 
that  the  dog  barks  and  the  kitten  mews,  the  cock  crows, 
without  reading  it  in  a  primer !  And — I  would  like  to 
have  a  prayer  book  of  my  very  own." 

"I  think  I  have  one  somewhere  about.  But  I  will 
send  to  New  Orleans  for  some  books  the  next  time 
the  boats  go  down.  People  have  not  had  much  time 
for  learning  thus  far." 

"And  I  had  nothing  to  do  in  the  old  chateau  but  play 
and  read.  There  was  no  one  to  play  with,"  sadly. 
"How  funny  that  little  girl  was  who  brought  me  the 
kitten !  Five  brothers !  Well,  I  have  two  at  home,  in 
Paris,  I  mean,  but  I  never  saw  them  only  once.  Ro 
salie  !  Isn't  it  a  pretty  name  ?  I  wonder  if  you  would 
like  me  to  be  called  anything  else?" 

"No,  dear.  You  are  a  queen,  my  little  queen.  I 
don't  want  you  changed  in  any  way.  I  only  want  you 
to  be  happy  and  content." 

She  was  so  thoroughly  rested  now  that  although  she 
gave  little  skips  occasionally  and  held  his  hand  tightly, 
her  heart  seemed  as  light  as  the  birds  flying  overhead. 
And  now  they  were  coming  to  a  small  Indian  settle 
ment,  with  a  few  wigwams,  and  long  stretches  of  corn 
up  high  enough  to  make  a  beautiful  waving  green  sea 
as  the  wind  moved  it  in  undulating  billows.  Women 
were  cooking  out  of  doors  on  little  stone  fireplaces. 
Children  played  about;  two  small  papooses  hung  up 
to  a  tree  branch  were  rocking  to  and  fro.  In  the  sun 
lay  two  braves  asleep,  too  lazy  to  hunt  or  fish.  Yet  it 
was  a  pretty  picture. 


56         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

The  tepees  were  in  a  semi-circular  form.  Denys 
passed  the  first  one.  At  the  second  a  woman  sat  beside 
the  flap  doing  some  beautiful  bead  and  feather  work. 
She  raised  her  eyes  and  then  sprang  up  with  a  glad 
smile,  holding  her  work  in  a  sort  of  apron. 

"It  is  M'sieu  Denys,"  in  broken  French,  that 
sounded  soft  for  an  Indian  voice.  "He  has  come  back. 
He  has  taken  a  long  journey  to  the  Far  East" —  She 
glanced  curiously  at  the  stranger. 

"And  brought  home  a  little  girl,"  smiling  at  the 
child.  "She  has  come  from  the  land  of  the  great  Onon- 
tio,  and  I  am  to  care  for  her.  I  am  not  going  to  rove 
about  any  more,  but  trade  with  the  residents  and  send 
goods  up  and  down  the  river.  And  I  shall  want  many 
articles  of  you,  Mattawissa." 

She  smiled  and  nodded.  "I  make  not  much  for 
trade,  but  sometimes  the  hunters  buy  for  their  sweet 
hearts  as  they  return.  And  will  you  trade  beads  and 
silks  ?  The  threads  we  make  are  so  troublesome  to  dye, 
and  sometimes  the  color  is  rough,  not  pretty,"  with  a 
shrug.  "I  have  heard  it  comes  up  from  the  great  city 
down  below." 

"New  Orleans.  Yes.  But  I  brought  it  with  me  from 
Canada.  They  use  it  in  the  convents,  where  they  do 
fine  work.  And  the  Spanish  often  take  it  home  to 
show,  and  ornament  their  houses  for  the  strangeness 
of  it,  and  moccasins  and  bands,  and  the  pretty  things 
for  real  service.  No  one  makes  them  quite  as  well  as 
you." 

"Will  not  the  child  sit  down?"  She  brought  a  bag 
stuffed  with  grass,  much  like  the  more  modern  has 
sock.  Renee  thanked  her,  and  seated  herself. 

Mattawissa  was  proud  of  her  French,  and  lame  as  it 
was,  brought  it  out  on  every  occasion  when  talking  to 


THE  SOWING  OF  A  THORN  57 

the  white  people.  Denys  had  a  smattering  of  several 
Indian  tongues,  which  most  of  the  fur  hunters  and 
traders  soon  acquired. 

Some  of  the  little  children  of  the  forest  crept  up  cau 
tiously.  Men  they  were  used  to  seeing;  white  women 
rarely,  as  those  at  a  distance  seldom  went  into  the  set 
tlements  in  their  early  youth.  They  were  not  strange 
to  Renee,  and  she  smiled  a  little,  but  they  retained  their 
natural  gravity  and  evinced  no  disposition  to  make 
friends. 

Then  Renee's  attention  was  directed  to  the  articles 
Mattawissa  brought  out.  Beautiful  strips  of  wampum, 
collars  ornamented  with  bits  of  shells  hanging  by 
threads  that  made  a  soft,  rhythmic  sound  as  they  were 
handled  about,  bits  of  deerskin  that  were  like  velvet,  on 
which  she  had  traced  out  delicate  fancies  that  were 
really  fascinating.  Denys  grew  enthusiastic  over  them, 
and  begged  them  all. 

"This  is  for  Talequah,  the  daughter  of  the  Sioux  who 
marries  the  son  of  a  chief  before  the  moon  of  roses 
ends.  I  cannot  part  with  that.  But  I  want  beads, 
and  if  I  could  come  in  and  choose?"  inquiringly. 

"Oh,  yes,  come  in  by  all  means,"  Denys  answered 
quickly.  "I  want  to  send  down  the  river — in  a  fort 
night  perhaps,  and  will  take  whatever  you  can  spare. 
You  shall  look  over  my  store  and  select." 

"To-morrow  if  you  like,"  hesitatingly. 

"Yes,  the  sooner  the  better." 

"I  will  bring  these." 

"No,  I  will  take  them.  It  is  not  a  heavy  load," 
with  a  pleasant  smile.  "And  surely  I  am  as  able  as 
you  to  carry  the  parcel.  Then  I  am  not  a  brave.  A 
trapper  is  used  to  waiting  on  himself." 

"But — I  have  something  for  the  child." 


58         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"O  Renee,  you  will  like  that.  Ma'm'selle  is  getting 
her  chamber  furnished." 

"And  you  must  eat."  She  went  in  the  wigwam 
and  returned  with  a  red  earthen  bowl  decorated  on 
the  outside  with  a  good  deal  of  taste,  not  unlike  Egyp 
tian  pottery,  the  yellow  edge  so  burned  in  and  rubbed 
by  some  process  that  it  suggested  dull  gold  burnished. 
Also  a  dainty  boat  made  of  birch  bark  embroidered 
and  beaded,  with  compartments  inside  for  trinkets,  or 
it  could  be  used  for  a  work-box. 

"Oh,  how  very  pretty!  Uncle  Gaspard,  I  can  keep 
the  boat  on  my  table,  and  the  bowl  on  the  little  shelf 
you  put  up.  And  I  shall  fill  it  with  flowers.  Madame, 
I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart.  I  know  it  is  because 
you  like  Uncle  Gaspard  so  well,  for  an  hour  ago  you 
did  not  know  of  me;"  and  she  pressed  the  Indian 
woman's  hand. 

"I  am  glad  it  pleases  you.  I  may  find  some  other 
article.  And  now  be  seated  again.  There  is  a  long 
walk  before  you,  and  you  must  have  something  to  eat." 

She  went  out  to  the  old  woman  bending  over  her 
preparations,  and  brought  for  each  a  bowl  of  sagamity, 
a  common  Indian  repast,  oftener  cooked  with  fish  than 
bits  of  pork ;  and  a  plate  of  cakes  made  of  Indian  corn 
pounded  fine  in  a  rude  mortar,  or  sometimes  ground 
with  one  stone  on  top  of  another.  For  though  there  were 
mills  that  ground  both  corn  and  wheat,  the  Indians 
kept  to  their  primitive  methods.  What  did  it  matter 
so  long  as  there  were  squaws  to  do  the  work  ? 

Renee  did  not  like  the  sagamity,  but  the  cakes  were 
good  and  the  birch  beer  was  fine  she  thought.  In  spite 
of  protest  she  insisted  on  carrying  her  treasures  home. 

Then  Mattawissa  wove  a  few  strands  of  grass  to 
gether,  and  bringing  the  four  ends  up  over  the  bowl 


THE  SOWING  OF  A  THORN 


59 


knotted  them  into  a  bunch  and  made  a  kind  of  basket. 
A  piece  of  bark  was  slipped  under  the  joining  and  this 
wound  around  with  a  bit  of  deerskin  so  that  it  would 
not  cut  the  fingers.  Renee  watched  the  process  with 
much  interest,  and  thought  it  very  ingenious. 

Then  they  started  homeward  quite  fresh  from  their 
long  rest,  but  at  the  last  they  had  to  hurry  a  little  lest 
the  gate  at  the  fort  should  be  closed. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WITH   A   TOUCH    OF   SORROW. 

THE  boats  were  coming  up  the  river,  a  long  line  slow 
moving,  and  not  with  the  usual  shouts  and  songs.  Half 
the  town  turned  out  to  welcome  them.  Along  the  edge 
of  the  levee  in  the  old  days  stretched  a  considerable 
bluff,  washed  and  worn  away  long  ago  to  the  level  of 
Market  and  Chestnut  Streets.  From  here  you  had 
much  of  the  river  both  up  and  down  in  clear  sight. 

It  was  thronged  with  men  now  in  motley  array, 
smoking  their  short  pipes,  exchanging  a  bit  of  badinage 
and  telling  each  other  what  treasures  they  expected. 
For  a  few  weeks  there  would  be  a  rush  of  business  until 
the  boats  were  loaded  again  and  everything  dropped 
back  to  the  olden  inertia.  There  would  be  plenty  of 
frolics  too  and  a  great  warm  welcome  for  Pierre 
Laclede. 

A  canoe  was  coming  up  swiftly,  and  yet  there  was  no 
sign  of  gladness  on  the  boats,  no  flags  flying  gayly. 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  said  some  one  perplexed. 

The  canoe  was  steered  slowly,  touched  the  rude 
wharf,  and  the  cheer  died  in  the  throats  of  the  throng. 

"It  is  bad  news  we  bring.  Monsieur  Laclede  is  not 
with  us.  M.  Pierre  Chouteau  is  heartbroken.  Where 
is  the  colonel?"  and  the  boat  swung  round. 

"Here,  here,"  and  the  tall,  soldierly  man  sprang 
down  the  steps.  "What  is  it?"  What  has  happened 
to  my  brother?"  and  his  tone  was  freighted  with 
anxiety. 


WITH  A  TOUCH  OF  SORROW  61 

"Nothing  to  him  but  sorrow,  Monsieur  le  Colonel. 
But  our  brave  and  true  friend,  our  great  man  and 
leader  in  everything,  M.  Laclede,  is  lost  to  us  forever. 
Monsieur,  he  is  dead." 

The  sailor  bowed  reverently.  Colonel  Chouteau 
clasped  his  hands  together. 

"Dead!  dead!  Our  beloved  M.  Laclede."  It  ran 
through  the  crowd  like  a  knell. 

A  great  wave  of  sorrow  swept  over  St.  Louis.  True, 
the  boats  came  in  and  there  was  bustle  and  business 
enough  unloading.  Some  of  them  were  to  go  farther 
up,  but  they  paused  in  a  reverent  fashion.  The  mer 
riment  of  welcome  was  hushed  in  reverent  sadness. 
The  little  bell  began  to  toll,  the  steps  so  eager  a  moment 
ago  were  slow  enough  now.  Every  one  felt  he  had  lost 
a  friend. 

"But  when  and  how  did  this  happen?"  asked  Colo 
nel  Chouteau,  dazed  by  the  unexpected  sorrow,  and 
still  incredulous. 

The  captain  of  one  of  the  boats  on  which  indeed 
Pierre  Laclede  had  taken  his  passage,  stepped  to  the 
wharf  and  made  a  salute  with  his  hand.  Every  one 
crowded  around  to  hear  the  story. 

It  was  melancholy  enough  and  moved  more  than 
one  to  tears.  M.  Laclede  had  not  been  altogether  well 
on  leaving  New  Orleans,  and  was  trusting  to  the  ex 
hilarating  air  of  his  loved  town  to  restore  him.  But 
fever  set  in  and  he  had  grown  rapidly  worse.  It  was 
a  long  and  tedious  journey  in  those  days,  and  medical 
lore  was  at  a  low  ebb.  Before  they  had  reached  the 
Arkansas  River  the  brave  soul  had  yielded  up  his  life, 
still  in  the  prime  of  a  splendid  manhood,  not  even 
attaining  the  privilege  of  sepulture  in  the  town  of  his 
heart,  for  which  he  had  worked  and  planned  with  a 


62         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

wisdom  that  was  to  remain  long  years  afterward,  like 
the  fragrance  of  a  high,  unwearied  soul. 

They  gathered  in  groups  relating  this  and  that  to 
his  praise.  He  had  founded  the  town,  his  busy  brain 
and  far-reaching  wisdom  had  seen  and  seized  upon  the 
points  possible  for  a  great  entrepot  of  trade.  And 
in  the  years  to  come  his  wildest  dreams  would  be  more 
than  realized,  though  the  faint-hearted  ones  feared  now 
that  everything  would  stop. 

Renee  was  aroused  to  a  great  interest  in  the  tales  of 
the  intrepid  explorers.  Sitting  in  the  door  in  the  soft 
darkness,  for  now  the  moon  did  not  rise  until  past 
midnight,  she  lingered,  listening  with  a  child's  eager 
ness  to  whom  something  new  and  wonderful  is  related, 
and  Denys  telling  adventures  that  even  now  moved 
him  deeply.  De  Soto  marching  with  his  little  band 
across  the  Continent,  suffering  from  perfidy  and  mu 
tiny,  resolved  to  find  a  westward  passage  and  the  gold 
that  had  rewarded  other  explorers  in  South  America, 
and  at  last  ill  and  wearied  out,  giving  up  his  life,  and 
at  night  pushing  off  on  the  longer  journey  where 
friendly  hands  rowed  out  silently  as  if  to  some  unknown 
country,  and  softly  dropped  their  burden  in  the  river, 
partly  it  is  said  because  they  did  not  want  the  Indians 
to  know  that  he  was  mortal  and  could  die. 

Marquette  and  Joliet,  brave  heroes  of  a  faith  they 
wished  to  establish  everywhere,  La  Salle  with  his  in 
domitable  courage,  being  deserted  and  with  but  one 
guide  pushing  through  dangers,  then  going  to  France 
to  seek  aid  from  the  great  king,  convinced  now  that 
the  Mississippi  River  was  not  a  waterway  to  the  western 
coast  as  some  had  predicted,  but  would  open  up  a  great 
river  route  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  There  were  wild 
guesses  in  those  days.  But  this  proved  true.  In  the 


WITH  A  TOUCH  OF  SORROW  63 

name  of  Louis  XIV.  he  took  possession  of  this  splen 
did  estate,  that  rendered  France  the  greatest  proprietor 
of  the  new  country.  Not  content  with  all  this  glory 
he  must  essay  another  dangerous  trip  and  lose  his  life 
by  a  perfidious  follower. 

Men  made  histories  in  those  days  and  had  but  little 
time  to  write  them.  Priests'  journals  and  letters  were 
to  translate  them  later  on.  But  stories  and  legends 
were  told  over,  passed  down  in  families,  and  treasured 
as  sacred  belongings. 

Renee  was  deeply  interested.  The  heroism  stirred 
her.  Nearly  every  story  she  wound  in  some  way  about 
Uncle  Gaspard.  It  seemed  as  if  he  must  have  sailed 
in  every  boat,  trudged  through  wildernesses,  even 
explored  the  old  cave  with  its  shining  walls  and  sides 
of  lead  that  they  mistook  first  for  silver ;  and  after  get 
ting  over  his  disappointment  how  Sieur  Renault 
opened  the  grand  Valle  mine  that  seems  inexhaustible 
even  to-day.  Gaspard  had  a  wonderful  way  of  making 
all  these  old  heroes  live  in  the  flesh  again. 

Renee  was  a  very  happy  little  girl  now.  It  was 
quite  true  that  Ma'm'selle  Barbe  had  a  lover,  a  hand 
some  young  fellow  who  was  devoted,  who  came  every 
night  with  his  violin,  and  when  he  did  not  play  sang 
charming  French  love  songs.  The  Guions  would 
much  rather  have  had  it  Gaspard  Denys.  He  was 
"settled."  And  then  he  was  a  shrewd  business  fellow 
and  would  be  sure  to  make  a  fortune.  Already  he  was 
acquiring  a  good  trade.  Alphonse  Maurice  had  no 
business  of  his  very  own,  and  was  barely  twenty-one. 
But  youthful  marriages  were  very  much  in  vogue  in 
those  days,  and  most  of  them  were  happy.  Life  was 
so  much  more  simple. 

Madame  Renaud  had  a  great  leaning  toward  Gas- 


64         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

pard  as  well.  But  what  could  one  do  if  he  would  not 
come,  would  not  play  the  lover?  She  would  have 
laughed  at  the  idea  of  the  little  Renee  in  any  sense  being 
a  rival. 

The  child  had  settled  to  a  happy  round.  She  went 
to  the  classes,  but  she  could  read  very  well,  and 
Gaspard  had  a  way  of  explaining  figures  to  her.  There 
was  the  business,  too,  that  she  was  taking  a  great  in 
terest  in,  and  this  amused  him  very  much. 

Her  kitten  grew  and  was  a  great  pet.  There  was  a 
flower  garden,  though  wild  flowers  grew  all  about  and 
there  were  wild  berries  in  profusion.  She  often  went 
with  Mere  Lunde  to  gather  them,  sometimes  with  par 
ties  of  children.  She  learned  little  housewifely  tricks 
as  well.  When  she  found  Mere  Lunde  had  no  end  of 
memories  and  legends  tucked  under  her  cap,  she  often 
made  the  gentle  old  body  bring  them  out,  when  Uncle 
Gaspard  had  to  spend  his  evenings  talking  to  the  men. 

She  rather  liked  the  Saturday  lesson,  though  she 
soon  had  it  all  by  heart.  And  she  was  quite  a  devout 
little  church-goer.  She  had  been  very  much  impressed 
when  Father  Gibault,  the  vicar  general,  came  up  and 
delivered  a  funeral  oration  for  Monsieur  Pierre  La- 
clede. 

Meanwhile  the  Chouteau  brothers  stepped  into  M. 
Laclede's  business.  Colonel  Auguste  Chouteau  had 
been  his  lieutenant  and  right-hand  man  for  years.  He 
was  very  proud  of  the  town,  too,  and  resolved  to  im 
prove  the  old  Laclede  house  and  make  it  quite  a  centre. 

There  was  a  new  governor  as  well.  Why  a  mild 
and  judicious  ruler  like  Francisco  Cruzat  should  have 
been  superseded  by  an  avaricious,  feeble-minded  Span 
iard,  who  was  half  the  time  incapable  from  drink,  no 
one  could  explain. 


WITH  A  TOUCH  OF  SORROW  65 

Meanwhile  some  larger  questions  were  coming  to 
the  fore  that  caused  great  uneasiness.  Tnere  was  war 
between  the  American  colonies  and  the  British,  who 
had  conquered  a  part  of  Canada.  Spain  avowed  her 
sympathy  with  the  colonies.  The  Indians  of  the  great 
northwest  had  affiliated  with  the  British.  Then  an 
American,  Colonel  Rogers  Clark,  had  captured  the 
British  posts  at  Cahokia  and  Kaskaskia,  but  afterward 
gone  to  Vincennes. 

Colonel  Chouteau  argued  that  the  town  should  be 
put  in  a  state  of  defence.  The  new  palisades  had  not 
been  finished.  This  was  pushed  forward  now,  the 
wall  strengthened  with  logs  and  clay,  and  in  some 
places  rebuilt.  The  old  cannon  was  replaced  with  new, 
and  the  gates  made  more  secure.  The  governor  even 
in  his  sober  moments  laughed  at  these  precautions. 

Sometimes  on  a  Sunday  or  holiday  Gaspard  Deuys 
took  Renee  to  visit  her  grandfather.  He  made  no  effort 
to  claim  her.  Indeed,  he  was  away  a  good  deal,  and 
then  his  cabin  was  locked  tip. 

Over  beyond  at  the  southern  end  was  the  great 
Chouteau  pond,  almost  a  lake  where  the  mill  was  sit 
uated,  then  a  kind  of  creek  winding  about  and  another 
lovely  spot,  broadening  out,  turning  around  again,  and 
ending  in  a  long  point.  Young  people  and  older  ones 
too  went  out  to  row,  taking  their  dinner  in  picnic  fash 
ion.  They  were  always  full  of  pleasure,  these  merry 
French. 

Christmas  had  delighted  Renee,  and  brought  a  dis 
appointment  as  well.  It  was  a  great  season  in  old  St. 
Louis.  At  twelve  o'clock  every  one  who  possibly 
could  went  to  midnight  mass  and  the  little  church  was 
crowded.  The  people  were  already  outgrowing  it. 
Father  Meurin  had  come  up  from  other  visitations, 


66         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

there  was  good  old  white-haired  Father  Savigne,  who 
had  been  a  missionary  to  the  Indians  and  several  times 
barely  escaped  with  his  life.  Father  Valentine  taught 
the  children  and  was  much  younger. 

The  altar  was  decorated  and  illuminated  with  candles 
in  front  of  the  Virgin  Mother  and  her  baby  Son.  The 
solemn  yet  lovely  sound  of  the  Gregorian  chants  made 
waves  of  music  through  the  chapel  and  stirred  every 
heart.  There  was  the  solemn  consecration,  the  kneel 
ing,  adoring  multitude,  the  heartfelt  responses. 

They  might  not  have  understood  the  intricate,  hair 
splitting  truths  of  to-day,  and  many  no  doubt  came  far 
short  of  the  divine  precepts,  but  they  did  worship  with 
all  their  hearts  and  souls.  And  when  the  priest  rang 
the  bell  on  the  hour  of  midnight  it  touched  them  all 
with  deep  reverence;  and  they  were  glad  to  join  in 
the  hymn,  and  the  benediction  descended  like  a  blessing. 

Ah,  how  beautiful  it  was  out  of  doors !  There  was 
no  moon,  but  myriad  stars  gleamed  and  glowed,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  they  were  touched  with  all  faint,  deli 
cate  colors.  The  ground  was  white  with  snow,  the 
peaked  roofs  were  spires,  and  the  river  a  dark,  wind 
ing  valley. 

Outside  the  church  everybody  shook  hands  and  gave 
good  wishes.  Children  and  old  people  were  all  to 
gether.  No  one  would  have  missed  the  mass.  But 
now  they  chatted  gayly  and  talked  of  the  coming  day, 
the  young  men  loitering  to  capture  some  pretty  girl 
and  walk  home  with  her. 

Mere  Lunde  stirred  the  fire  and  Denys  put  a  great 
log  on  it,  and  on  his  own  in  the  shop.  The  little  girl's 
window  was  hung  with  a  fur  curtain,  for  occasionally 
the  wind  found  chinks  to  whistle  through  as  it  came 
from  the  great  prairies  beyond  and  brought  the  sound 


WITH  A  TOUCH  OF  SORROW  67 

of  writhing  and  sometimes  crushed  forests.  But  all 
was  warmth  within.  Mere  Lunde  made  a  hot  drink 
with  wine  and  spices,  and  brought  out  her  Christmas 
cake  which  she  had  not  meant  to  cut  until  to-morrow. 

"But  see,  it  is  to-morrow  already,"  she  said  with 
her  cheery  laugh.  She  had  devoted  several  prayers 
for  her  poor  son's  soul  and  she  was  quite  sure  he  was 
safe  with  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  now  understood  what 
heavenly  life  was  like. 

"It  was  all  so  beautiful,"  Renee  said  with  a  long 
breath  of  delight.  "And  the  singing!  I  can  hear  it 
yet  in  the  air." 

"Thou  must  to  bed,  little  one,  for  to-morrow  will  be 
a  gay  day,"  said  Gaspard,  kissing  her.  "Mere,  see 
that  she  is  well  tucked  in,  for  the  night  is  cold." 

Alas!  for  all  the  precaution  the  little  girl  woke  up 
with  a  strange  hot  feeling  in  her  throat,  and  her  head 
was  heavy  and  seemed  twice  as  large  as  ordinary. 
She  tried  to  raise  it,  but  everything  in  the  room  swam 
round.  She  gave  a  faint  cry,  but  no  one  heard,  for 
Mere  Lunde  was  busy  among  pans  and  pots. 

"Come,  little  laggard!"  cried  a  cheery  voice.  "The 
children  are  here  with  their  etrennes." 

These  were  little  cakes  with  dried  fruit  dipped  in 
maple  syrup  and  thus  coated  over.  The  children  car 
ried  them  about  to  each  other  on  Christmas  morn 
ing. 

The  only  answer  was  a  low  moan.  Uncle  Gaspard 
leaned  over  the  small  bed. 

"Renee,  Renee,  what  is  it?"  He  raised  her  in  his 
arms  and  was  startled  at  her  flushed  face,  her  dulled 
eyes,  her  hot  hands. 

"O  mere,"  he  cried.  "Come,  the  little  one  is  very 
ill." 


68         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

They  looked  at  her,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  know 
them,  and  moaned  pitifully.  "Something-  must  be  done. 
She  has  taken  cold,  I  think,  and  has  a  hot  fever." 

Very  few  people  called  in  a  doctor  in  those  days. 
Indeed,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  find  him  this 
morning.  There  were  many  excellent  home-made  rem 
edies  that  all  housewives  put  up  in  the  autumn,  com 
pounded  of  roots  and  barks,  some  of  them  learned  from 
the  Indian  women. 

"Poor  child,  poor  petite,  yes,  she  must  be  attended 
to  at  once.  Get  thy  breakfast,  m'sieu,  while  I  make 
some  comfort  and  aid  for  her.  Yes,  it  is  a  fever." 

"But  what  shall  I  do  for  her?" 

"Get  me  some  ears  of  corn,  good  big  ones." 

"And  leave  her?"  aghast  at  the  thought. 

"Thou  wilt  not  cure  her  by  staring  at  her.  She  can 
take  no  harm  for  a  few  moments." 

There  was  always  a  big  kettle  standing  on  the  coals 
with  four  short  legs  holding  it  up.  Mere  Lunde 
raked  out  the  ashes  and  pushed  the  flaming  brands 
under  it.  Gaspard  exhumed  an  armful  of  corn  from  a 
big  box  in  the  shop. 

"Drop  them  in,"  she  said.     "A  dozen  or  so." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  now."  He  nodded  in  a  satisfied 
fashion,  for  he  had  faith  in  the  remedy. 

Soon  the  water  bubbled  up  and  the  fragrance  of  the 
steaming  corn  diffused  itself  about  the  room.  Mere 
Lunde  went  to  the  bed  and  put  a  thick  blanket  under 
the  child.  Then  the  ears  were  laid  about  her  and  she 
was  rolled  up  like  a  mummy.  The  woman  raised  her 
head  a  trifle  and  forced  a  potion  down  her  throat  that 
almost  strangled  her.  Spreading  blankets  over  her, 
she  tucked  her  in  securely,  and,  patting  the  top  one, 
meant  for  love  to  the  child,  she  turned  away. 


WITH  A  TOUCH  OF  SORROW  69 

"Well  people  must  eat  for  strength,  and  Christmas 
day  is  no  time  for  fasting.  Come." 

But  Gaspard  Denys  was  in  no  mood  for  eating.  He 
had  never  thought  of  Renee  being  ill.  He  knew  of  some 
children  who  had  died,  and  there  was  Monsieur  Laclede 
who  looked  strong  enough  to  live  to  a  hundred  years, 
who  had  gone  out  of  life  with  a  fever.  Oh,  he  could 
not  give  up  his  little  girl ! 

"Is  that  all?"  he  asked  presently. 

Mere  Lunde  understood. 

"There's  no  use  running  in  and  out  like  the  mill 
stream,  for  it's  the  flour  that  is  getting  ground,"  she 
said  sententiously.  "Wait  a  bit." 

He  had  large  patience  with  most  events  of  life,  but 
here  was  breathless  with  suspense.  If  she  had  been 
drooping  for  days,  but  she  was  so  merry  last  night. 

Rosalie  came  to  the  door.  The  children  were  going 
to  Chouteau  pond  to  skate  and  slide.  Would  not  Renee 
join  them? 

"Alas  !  Renee  was  very  ill." 

"But  she  must  get  better  by  to-morrow,"  nodding 
hopefully  and  laughing. 

After  that  Grandpere  Freneau  came  up,  which  star 
tled  Gaspard,  for  he  had  never  deigned  to  visit  his 
grandchild.  He  was  sober  and  comparatively  well 
dressed,  and  had  a  little  gift  for  her,  a  curious  inlaid 
box,  with  a  trinket  a  girl  might  like.  She  would  be 
well  again  in  a  few  days.  Children  were  tough  and 
sturdy,  it  was  the  old  people  who  had  to  think  about 
ills.  As  for  him,  he  was  strong  enough  yet. 

Then  he  made  a  clumsy  sort  of  bow  and  retreated. 

"I  hope  it  will  bring  no  bad  luck,"  exclaimed  Mere 
Lunde.  "But  he  has  not  a  good  name.  I  should 
throw  the  gift  into  the  fire !" 


70          A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"I  dare  say  it  is  of  no  great  value."  He  shook  the 
box.  "Some  bits  of  silver  with  which  he  salves  his 
conscience." 

Mere  Lunde  crossed  herself. 

He  put  it  away  in  his  desk.  He  was  not  super 
stitious,  but  he  wished  it  had  not  happened  this  morn 
ing. 

It  was  quite  late,  but  he  unbarred  his  shop  door. 
There  was  no  trade  now.  The  fall  business  had  lasted 
longer  than  usual  on  account  of  the  fine,  open  weather. 
When  the  cold  once  set  in  it  often  lasted  steadily  for 
three  months.  But  there  was  plenty  of  pleasure.  The 
regular  trappers  had  gone  off,  but  hunting  parties  often 
sallied  out  and  returned  laden  with  game. 

Mere  Lunde  stole  in  to  look  at  her  patient  and  shook 
her  head,  threw  some  more  ears  of  corn  in  the  kettle 
and  answered  the  calls  that  came  in  a  joyous  mood 
and  left  in  sorrow.  For  people  were  very  sympathetic 
in  those  days,  and  cares  were  shared  in  true  neighborly 
fashion. 

Presently  there  was  a  little  moisture  about  the  edge 
of  Renee's  hair,  but  the  watcher  did  not  like  the  dull 
purple  of  her  cheeks  nor  the  labored  breathing.  There 
might  be  a  poultice  for  the  throat;  yes,  she  would 
make  that.  And  if  the  good  Father  came  and  made 
a  prayer !  But  that  seemed  as  if  one  must  be  very  ill 
indeed. 

Gaspard  had  no  mind  for  pleasure.  He  went  in  and 
stood  by  the  child,  who  most  of  the  time  lay  in  a  heavy 
sort  of  sleep.  How  strange  she  looked  with  her  red, 
swollen  face,  quite  unlike  herself! 

Yes,  he  would  go  for  Dr.  Montcrevier,  though 
he  had  not  much  faith  in  him,  for  he  seemed  to  think 
more  of  strange  bugs  and  birds  and  fishes  than  human 


WITH  A  TOUCH  OF  SORROW  71 

beings.  However,  his  search  was  fruitless,  perhaps  it 
was  as  well. 

"The  fever  is  abating,"  was  Mere  Lunde's  greeting 
in  a  joyous  tone.  "Great  drops  have  come  out  on  her 
forehead.  Ah,  I  think  we  shall  conquer  with  the  good 
corn.  And  she  has  been  awake." 

There  was  less  pressure  for  breath,  though  the  rattle 
in  the  throat  was  not  a  pleasant  sound.  But  by  mid- 
afternoon  she  was  in  a  drench  of  perspiration,  and  then 
Mere  Lunde  rubbed  her  dry  and  rolled  her  in  a  fresh 
blanket. 

"What  is  the  matter?  I  feel  so  queer,"  exclaimed  the 
tremulous  voice. 

"You  are  ill,  poor  little  child,"  in  a  tender  tone. 

"Is  it  morning  ?  The  night  was  so  long.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  house  was  burning  up." 

"It  was  the  bad  fever.  Oh,  yes,  it  is  day,  almost 
another  night.  Oh,  little  one,  the  good  God  be  praised !" 

Mere  Lunde  dropped  down  on  her  knees  and  re 
peated  a  short  prayer. 

Renee  raised  her  head. 

"Oh,  it  still  feels  queer.     And  I  am  so  tired." 

She  dropped  off  to  sleep  again.  Mere  Lunde  had 
two  potions,  one  for  the  fever,  one  for  her  general 
strength,  but  she  would  not  disturb  her  now.  Sleep 
was  generally  a  good  medicine. 

"She  has  spoken.  She  is  better,"  was  the  mere's 
greeting  as  Denys  entered.  But  she  is  asleep  now. 
Do  not  disturb  her." 

Yes,  the  dreadful  purple  was  going  out  of  her  face. 
He  took  the  limp  little  hand.  It  was  cooler,  though  the 
pulse  still  beat  hard  and  high.  Ah,  how  much  one 
could  come  to  love  and  hardly  know  it  until  the  threat 
of  losing  appeared.  And  he  thought  of  her  mother. 


72          A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.   LOUIS 

He  could  never  get  it  out  of  his  mind  but  that  she 
had  died  in  cruel  neglect,  alone  and  heartbroken.  He 
pressed  the  slim  ringers  to  his  lips,  he  studied  the  brow 
with  its  soft,  light  rings  of  hair,  the  almost  transparent 
eyelids  and  long  lashes,  the  dainty  nose  that  had  a 
piquant  ending  not  quite  retrousse  but  suggestive  of  it, 
and  the  small  mouth,  the  lips  wide  in  the  middle  that 
gave  it  a  roundness  often  seen  in  childhood.  She 
would  be  a  pretty  young  girl,  though  it  was  her  soft 
yet  deep  and  wondering  eyes  that  made  her  resemble 
her  mother. 

When  she  roused  again  Mere  Lunde  administered 
her  potions.  She  made  a  very  wry  face  over  the  bitter 
one.  The  good  mere  put  another  poultice  on  her 
throat  and  spread  it  well  over  her  chest;  rolling  her 
up  again  like  a  mummy.  She  would  have  laughed  if 
there  had  not  been  a  great  lump  in  her  throat. 

"I  am  like  a  papoose,"  she  said.  "Uncle  Gaspard, 
sit  here  and  tell  me  some  stories." 

He  would  not  go  away  after  she  had  fallen  asleep, 
but  wrapped  himself  in  a  blanket  and  leaned  his  head 
on  the  foot  of  her  bed.  Now  and  then  she  moaned  a 
little,  which  gave  him  a  pang,  and  after  midnight  she 
grew  very  restless.  The  fever  was  coming  on  again. 
Mere  Lunde  roused  her  and  gave  her  another  potion, 
and  before  daylight  she  had  prepared  the  corn  bath 
again.  The  fever  did  not  seem  to  be  as  obstinate.  By 
noon  she  was  quite  comfortable.  Father  Lemoine 
brought  in  the  vicar  general,  who  was  going  back  to 
Ste.  Genevieve.  This  was  a  great  honor,  and  Mere 
Lunde  brought  out  some  wine  that  had  come  from  the 
real  vineyards  of  France. 

Father  Meurin  heard  the  little  girl's  story.  He  had 
known  of  Antoine  Freneau,  indeed,  he  had  performed 


WITH  A  TOUCH  OF  SORROW  73 

the  first  marriage  and  given  the  first  baptism  in  the 
little  town.  That  was  in  a  tent,  because  there  was  no 
church.  And  the  first  services  had  been  held  in  the 
fields,  for  the  church  had  been  built  hardly  ten  years. 

"She  would  be  in  poor  hands  if  left  to  her  grand 
father,"  he  admitted.  "And  I  hope  she  will  be  rightly 
brought  up.  If  you  had  a  wife,  M.  Denys." 

"I  have  rambled  about  so  much  I  have  had  no  time 
to  marry,"  he  returned  rather  drily.  "But  now  I  shall 
settle  down." 

"I  hope  so.  It  is  what  the  towns  need,  steady  occu 
pancy.  And  you  will  deal  rightly  with  the  child  and 
see  that  she  is  brought  up  as  a  daughter  of  the  Church 
should  be.  You  are  quite  sure  her  mother — "  he  fin 
ished  the  question  with  his  eyes. 

"I  saw  the  marriage  register  in  the  cathedral  at 
Quebec.  Then  her  mother  was  taken  to  France,  where 
she  died,"  Denys  answered. 

The  vicar  nodded,  satisfied.  He  repeated  the  prayer 
for  the  recovery  of  the  sick  and  gave  them  all  a  kindly 
blessing  with  his  adieu. 

Gaspard  Denys  fell  into  a  brown  study.  She  was 
not  his  child,  to  be  sure.  Would  it  make  any  differ 
ence  any  time  in  the  future?  Ought  there  to  be  some 
woman  different  from  Mere  Lunde —  bah !  it  would  be 
years  before  Renee  was  grown  up.  And  the  little  one 
wanted  no  one  to  share  his  love.  He  was  glad — that 
would  always  be  an  excuse  to  himself.  He  never  could 
put  any  one  in  the  place  he  had  hoped  to  set  Renee 
Freneau. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BY    THE    FIRESIDE. 

RENEE  mended  slowly.  She  had  indeed  been  very  ill. 
She  was  so  weak  that  it  tired  her  to  sit  up  among  the 
pillows  in  her  bed.  And  one  day  when  she  insisted 
upon  getting  up  she  dropped  over  into  Mere  Lunde's 
arms. 

"Where  is  all  my  strength  gone  to?"  she  inquired 
pettishly. 

"Pauvre  petite,"  it  was  queer,  and  the  good  woman 
had  no  science  to  explain  it. 

But  her  throat  improved  and  her  voice  cleared  up, 
the  fever  grew  lighter  every  day  and  she  began  to 
have  some  appetite.  Friends  came  in  to  inquire  and 
sympathize  and  bring  delicacies.  Madame  Renaud 
offered  her  services,  but  no  one  was  really  needed, 
though  the  cordial,  smiling  face  did  Renee  good. 
Ma'm'selle  Barbe  brought  the  two  little  girls,  who 
looked  awestricken  at  the  pale  face,  where  the  eyes 
seemed  bigger  than  ever. 

Uncle  Gaspard  made  a  sort  of  settle  on  which  they 
could  put  some  cushions  and  blankets  so  that  she  could 
be  brought  out  to  the  living  room  and  watch  Mere 
Lunde  at  her  work.  Then  he  improved  upon  it  and 
made  it  into  a  kind  of  chair  with  a  back  that  could  be 
raised  and  lowered  by  an  ingenious  use  of  notches  and 
wooden  pins.  He  was  getting  so  handy  that  he  made 
various  useful  articles,  for  in  those  days  in  these  upper 
settlements  there  were  so  few  pieces  of  furniture  that 


BY  THE  FIRESIDE  75 

could  be  purchased,  unless  some  one  died  and  left 
no  relatives,  which  was  very  seldom.  Proud  enough 
one  was  of  owning  an  article  or  a  bit  of  china  or  a 
gown  that  was  a  family  heirloom. 

"Oh,"  he  said  one  evening  when  she  was  comfortably 
fixed  and  the  blaze  of  the  great  logs  lighted  up  the 
room  and  made  her  pale  face  a  little  rosy,  "I  had 
almost  forgotten — you  have  been  so  ill  it  drove  most 
other  things  out  of  my  mind.  Your  grandfather  came 
up  here  on  Christmas  day  and  brought  you  a  gift." 

"A  gift!     Oh,  what  was  it?" 

"Mere  Lunde  had  not  forgotten,  but  she  had  a  super 
stitious  feeling  about  it.  I  will  get  it  for  you,"  Gas- 
pard  said. 

He  returned  from  the  adjoining  room  with  the  box 
in  his  hand.  It  was  very  securely  fastened  with  a 
twisted  bit  of  deerskin,  which  was  often  used  for  cord. 

"Open  it,"  she  begged  languidly. 

He  cut  the  cord  but  did  not  raise  the  cover.  She 
held  it  some  seconds  in  her  hand. 

"Uncle,  do  you  remember  you  told  me  about  a  girl 
who  opened  a  box  and  let  troubles  out  all  over  the 
world?" 

"But  she  was  bidden  not  to.  Grandpere  Antoine 
did  not  leave  any  such  word  as  that,"  smilingly. 

She  raised  the  cover  slowly.  There  was  a  bit  of  soft 
white  fur  in  the  bottom  and  on  it  lay  a  golden  chain 
and  a  cross,  with  a  pearl  set  where  the  arms  and  up 
right  met.  In  the  clasp  was  a  smaller  pearl.  She 
held  it  up  silently. 

"The  good  saints  must  have  touched  his  soul!" 
ejaculated  Mere  Lunde.  "A  beautiful  cross!  It  is 
gold?"  with  a  questioning  glance  at  Denys. 

Renee  handed  it  to  him. 


76         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Oh,  yes,  gold  of  course.  And  your  grandfather 
seemed  quite  moved  with  pity  for  you.  I  saw  him 
again  this  morning,  but  he  said,  "Oh,  I  did  not  think 
she  would  die." 

Renee's  eyes  were  wide  open,  with  a  startled  light. 
"Did  anybody  think — that?"  and  her  voice  trem 
bled. 

"You  may  be  sure  I  did  not,"  exclaimed  Denys  with 
spirit,  almost  with  joyousness.  "I  would  not  have  let 
you  go." 

She  held  out  both  arms  to  him,  and  he  clasped  her 
to  his  heart. 

"But  people  are  compelled  to  sometimes,"  said  Mere 
Lunde  gravely. 

"We  were  not  compelled.  And  now  you  are  to  get 
well  as  rapidly  as  possible.  Everybody  has  been  hav 
ing  a  merry  time  with  the  king's  ball,  and  you  have 
missed  it.  But  there  is  next  year." 

How  far  away  next  year  seemed !  Spring,  and  sum 
mer,  and  autumn. 

"How  long  have  I  been  ill  ?  It  is  queer,  but  I  don't 
seem  to  remember  clearly,"  trying  to  think,  and  study 
ing  the  leaping  blaze  that  seemed  like  a  group  of  chil 
dren  playing  tag,  or  hide  and  seek. 

"It  is  almost  a  month.  First  it  was  pretty  bad." 
and  he  compressed  his  lips  with  a  queer  expression  and 
shook  his  head.  Now  he  had  let  his  hair  grow  quite 
long,  as  most  of  the  men  did,  and  the  ends  fell  into 
a  sort  of  curl. 

"And  then —  Mere  Lunde,  the  things  you  gave  me 
were  very  bad  and  bitter,  and  my  head  used  to  go 
round,  I  remember.  Sometimes  things  stood  on  the 
ceiling  in  such  a  funny  position.  And  then  to  be  like 
a  baby,  hardly  able  to  walk." 


BY  THE    FIRESIDE  77 

She  gave  a  soft,  languid  ripple  of  a  laugh.  Ah,  what 
if  he  had  lost  her ! 

"And  when  can  I  go  out?" 

"Oh,  not  in  a  long  while.  It  is  bitter  cold,  even 
the  river  is  full  of  ice  chunks.  But  you  may  dance 
at  the  next  king's  ball." 

"The  king's  ball?"  inquiringly. 

"Not  the  King  of  France,"  with  a  gentle  smile. 
"When  the  Christ  was  born  three  kings  came  to  do  Him 
honor.  And  the  feast  is  always  kept." 

"The  blessed  Epiphany,"  explained  Mere  Lunde. 
"Though  why  it  should  be  given  over  to  all  this  merry 
making  I  can't  see." 

"Did  you  ever  go?"  asked  Renee. 

"Oh,  yes.  But  not  last  year — I  had  started  for  Can 
ada.  And  the  year  before  I  was  up  with  the  hunters." 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

He  sat  down  beside  her.  She  was  twisting  the  chain 
about  her  fingers. 

"There  is  not  much  to  do  for  the  people  who  stay 
here  in  the  winter,  though  New  Orleans  is  twice  as 
gay.  So  they  have  the  balls.  There  are  four  queens, 
pretty  young  girls,  and  they  each  choose  a  king  and 
open  the  ball  with  him.  Then  they  dance.  But  the  old 
people  and  a  good  many  of  the  children  go  as  well. 
And  there  is  dancing  and  jollity  and  a  feast  of  good 
things  to  eat,  and  much  laughing  and  jesting  and  fall 
ing  in  love,  with  the  marrying  at  Easter.  Next  year 
we  will  go." 

"I  will  keep  my  chain  to  wear  then."  She  put  it 
back  in  the  box.  "And  when  I  am  well  I  will  go 
down  and  thank  grandfather." 

"Yes,  yes.  that  will  be  the  right  thing  to  do.  I  will 
take  you." 


78         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

Then  they  were  silent  awhile.  "Tell  me  some  of  the 
stories  you  know,"  she  entreated. 

"I  have  told  you  so  many." 

"But  you  can  think  of  one  more,"  in  her  coaxing 
tone.  "Away  up  in  the  north  and  the  endless  fields 
of  snow,  and  where  does  it  end?" 

"At  the  North  Pole,  I  believe." 

"And  what  is  that?"  eagerly. 

"We  will  have  to  ask  Dr.  Montcrevier.  I  have 
never  been  farther  than  Hudson's  Bay." 

"But  people  can't  live  in  such  endless  cold !" 

"I  think  not.  Only  polar  bears  and  the  white  and 
silver  fox,  and  they  come  down  in  the  winter.  And 
then  there  are  islands  hundreds  of  miles  away  below 
us,  where  it  is  always  summer." 

"What  a  queer  world!"  She  smiled  absently  as  if 
she  could  hardly  take  it  in.  "Have  you  been  there?" 

"Only  to  New  Orleans.  Some  day  we  will  go  there, 
too." 

"Oh,  how  much  there  is  to  do.  Yes,  one  must  live  a 
long  while  to  do  it  all,"  and  a  thoughtful  expression 
deepened  her  eyes. 

"And  you  are  tired,  little  one.     You  must  go  to  bed." 

It  was  strange  to  get  so  tired.  She  had  been  tired 
many  times  on  the  long  journey  from  Canada,  but  not 
like  this.  She  was  very  glad  she  had  not  died,  how 
ever,  though  she  had  no  very  clear  idea  about  death, 
except  that  it  meant  going  to  another  world.  Uncle 
Gaspard  was  here,  and  that  was  one  reason  why  she 
wanted  to  stay. 

Presently  she  began  to  go  about  and  take  pleasure 
in  having  the  children  come  in  and  tell  her  about  their 
sports.  The  life  was  so  simple,  the  main  thing  seemed 
to  be  the  good  times.  No  one  troubled  about  education 


BY  THE   FIRESIDE  79 

and  there  were  no  "higher  branches"  to  vex  one's  soul. 
There  was  much  less  dissipation  here  than  in  New 
Orleans  or  even  Detroit,  where  people  from  other 
towns  were  continually  mingling. 

One  day  Uncle  Gaspard  took  her  out  on  his  sledge. 
She  had  never  dreamed  of  anything  so  splendid.  Great 
fields  of  snowy  white,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see, 
dotted  here  and  there  with  a  cluster  of  wigwam  poles 
and  brown  skins  stretched  on  the  outside  for  warmth. 
A  little  blue-gray  smoke  curled  lazily  upward,  and 
then  the  bluest  sky  over  it  all.  The  air  was  exhilara 
ting  and  brought  a  color  to  her  pale  cheeks,  and  made 
her  eyes  glow  like  stars. 

Then  spring  came.  The  white  blanket  melted  away, 
the  evergreens  and  spruces  scented  the  air  with  their 
new  growth ;  the  little  streams  rushed  hither  and  thither 
as  if  they  were  joyfully  carolling,  birds  sang  and  built 
everywhere.  Children  were  out  for  wild  flowers,  and 
raced  around  like  deers.  Some  days  the  old  mound 
was  alive  with  them,  then  they  were  down  to  Chouteau's 
pond.  The  boys  and  often  some  girls  went  up  the  river 
in  canoes.  There  was  the  old  rock  of  Fort  St.  Louis 
with  its  story  of  a  hundred  years  agone,  of  how  La 
Salle  had  built  a  fort  and  planted  an  Indian  colony,  that, 
when  its  leader  had  gone,  dwindled  and  went  back  to 
its  native  tribes.  How  there  had  been  a  fierce  quarrel 
between  the  Illinois  and  the  Outgamies,  and  the  Illinois 
had  fled  to  the  top  of  the  rock  and  stayed  there  until 
starvation  stared  them  in  the  face  and  French  inter 
vention  came  to  their  assistance. 

Then  business  opened  and  Gaspard  Denys  found  his 
hands  full.  His  wide  acquaintance  with  the  hunters 
and  his  dealings  with  the  Indians  brought  him  in  a 
great  deal  of  trade.  There  was  a  continual  loading  and 


8o         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

unloading  of  boats,  the  levee  was  thronged.  Denys 
had  to  take  in  a  clerk,  and  his  evenings  were  devoted 
to  straightening  accounts  and  preparing  for  the  next 
day,  and  it  seemed  to  Renee  as  if  he  was  always  busy 
now,  with  no  time  for  stories. 

Easter  brought  a  gay  festival  and  several  weddings. 
The  young  voyageurs  were  warmly  welcomed  home 
and  there  was  always  a  feast  or  a  ball  given  in  their 
honor.  When  the  houses  were  too  small,  they  went 
out  and  danced  on  the  green.  Marriages  seemed  an 
especially  social  affair.  The  families  on  both  sides 
made  the  agreement  and  were  mutually  pleased.  It 
was  seldom  a  young  couple  disregarded  the  respect 
universally  paid  to  parents,  and  though  there  was  much 
pioneer  life  there  was  a  kind  of  elegance  and  refine 
ment  among  the  women  with  all  their  vivacious  gayety. 
The  admixture  of  Spanish  blood  was  no  bad  element. 

One  of  the  young  traders  had  brought  home  with 
him  a  beautiful  Indian  wife,  lawfully  wedded  by  one 
of  the  mission  priests.  These  mixed  marriages  were 
not  in  much  favor  with  the  French.  Now  and  then  a 
trapper  brought  in  one  and  stayed  a  few  months,  but 
she  nearly  always  preferred  to  share  his  hunting  ex 
peditions.  Still,  there  were  some  comfortably  settled, 
whose  families  years  afterward  were  very  proud  of 
their  Indian  descent. 

Frangois  Marchand  found  an  old  friend  in  Gaspard 
Denys.  It  does  not  take  a  decade  to  cement  a  friend 
ship  made  over  camp-fires  and  days  filled  with  adven 
tures  and  dangers.  They  had  not  met  in  two  years, 
and  the  youth,  who  seemed  but  a  stripling  to  Gaspard 
then,  was  now  a  fine  young  fellow,  his  slim  figure 
filled  out,  his  thin  face  rounded  with  certain  lines  of 
energy,  determination,  and  good  health.  His  clear 


BY  THE    FIRESIDE  81 

blue  eyes  were  resolute  and  undaunted;  his  chestnut 
hair  was  cropped  close,  which  made  him  less  of  an 
object  for  an  Indian's  scalping  knife. 

"How  the  town  has  grown !"  he  exclaimed  with  great 
earnestness.  New  St.  Louis  would  have  laughed  at 
the  idea  that  twenty  or  thirty  families  could  add  much 
importance.  But  there  had  been  a  few  new  houses 
built,  sundry  additions  made  to  older  ones  where  fam 
ilies  had  increased.  Colonel  Chouteau  was  beautifying 
the  house  and  grounds  where  his  lamented  chief  and 
dear  friend  had  lived.  The  government  house  had  been 
repaired,  though  the  new  occupant  seemed  much  more 
indifferent  than  his  people,  and  cared  very  little  for  the 
interest  of  the  town  in  general. 

"We  shall  have  a  fine  place  by  and  by,"  returned 
Denys.  "True,  New  Orleans  has  the  mouth  of  the 
great  river,  but  if  no  boats  come  down,  what  then? 
And  we  are  the  half-way  house,  the  north  and  the  south 
both  need  us.  If  it  were  not  for  these  troublesome 
restrictions  on  trade,  and  the  fear  of  the  British." 

"France,  it  seems,  has  sided  with  the  colonies,  and 
Spain  has  given  them  a  certain  sympathy,"  returned 
Marchand.  "You  hear  a  good  deal  of  talk  up  north. 
The  fur  dealers  of  New  Amsterdam  are  quite  sure  the 
colonies  will  win  in  the  end,  though  by  my  faith  it 
doesn't  look  very  promising  now,"  and  he  gave  a  doubt 
ful  laugh. 

"Almost  five  years  of  losing  and  winning!  Well, 
they  are  plucky  not  to  be  discouraged.  But  what 
troubles  me  a  little  are  the  English  over  there!" 
nodding  to  the  eastward.  "If  some  fine  day  they  de 
scend  upon  us — well,  we  shall  be  wiped  out,  that  is 
all  about  it!  The  government  at  New  Orleans  does 
not  seem  to  care,  and  sends  us  this  drunken,  insolent 


82          A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

fellow  for  commandant,  who  is  as  set  in  his  own  ways 
as  a  mule." 

"The  English  will  be  kept  busy  enough  on  the  eastern 
coast  defending  their  ports  and  trying  to  capture  the 
cities.  Faith !  it  is  a  great  and  glorious  country,  and 
I  hardly  know  which  has  the  best,  the  east  or  the  west. 
If  some  day  the  way  is  cleared  to  the  Pacific  coast, 
and  then,  presto!  India!" 

India  was  still  a  dream  of  the  advancement  of  com 
merce.  The  western  empire  was  to  turn  more  than  one 
brain. 

Denys  studied  the  young  face  in  the  glow  of  youth 
ful  enthusiasm. 

"Marchand,  you  should  have  been  a  soldier,"  he  said. 

"Well,  which  side  shall  I  take?"  mockingly.  "I  am 
French.  Those  cursed  English  have  driven  us  out  of 
Canada.  Thank  Heaven  we  have  left  some  graves  of 
heroes  there.  But  I  wonder  what  Louis  le  Grand 
could  have  been  thinking  of  to  allow  himself  to  be  de 
spoiled  of  such  a  magnificent  estate!  And  here  we 
were  all  turned  over  to  Spain  without  even  a  chance 
to  fight  for  our  homes  in  the  New  World,"  and  Mar 
chand  gave  a  strong,  scornful  laugh.  "There  are  still 
the  Indians  left." 

"We  have  kept  good  friends  with  them  so  far." 

"But  the  British  can  stir  them  up  easily.  Rum  and 
firearms  may  do  the  mischief.  Still,  it  is  true  that 
some  day  I  may  have  to  fight  for  my  life,  or  something 
I  hold  dearer  than  life." 

"Are  you  going  back  north?" 

Marchand  shook  his  head.  He  was  sitting  on  a  pile 
of  skins  leaning  against  the  wall,  picturesque  in  his 
voyageur's  attire,  which  was  highly  ornamented  with 
Indian  work.  Now  and  then  in  the  intervals  of  talk 


BY  THE  FIRESIDE  83 

he  blew  out  a  volume  of  smoke  from  his  pipe,  or  made 
rings  in  the  air  when  he  took  it  from  his  mouth.  There 
was  something  jaunty  and  light-hearted  about  him  in 
spite  of  the  resolute  eyes. 

"Nay,"  with  a  shake  of  the  head,  "I  have  cut  myself 
out  of  that.  I  like  the  life,  too.  Denys,  were  you  ever 
very  much  in  love?  But  no,  that  is  a  foolish  question, 
for  you  are  the  sort  of  man  to  fight  for  the  one  who 
roused  your  soul.  And  so  many  pretty  girls  are  here  in 
St.  Louis !" 

"Yes,  I  heard  you  had  married,"  evading  the  half 
inquiry. 

"I  want  you  to  see  her,  my  beautiful  Indian  prize. 
Though  I  suspect  there  is  a  strain  of  French  blood 
back  of  her  mother,  who  was  brought  somewhere  from 
Canada.  And  when  her  father  was  killed  at  one  of 
those  dreadful  massacres  up  on  the  strait  (her  mother 
had  died  before),  she  and  her  brother  were  adopted  in 
one  branch  of  the  Huron  tribe.  Her  brother  married 
a  chief's  daughter.  I  saw  her  first  more  than  a  year 
ago,  in  the  winter.  She  was  only  a  child,  not  as  for 
ward  as  most  Indian  maids.  And  last  winter  we  met 
again,  and  yes,  fell  in  love  with  each  other.  The  squaw 
who  had  been  like  a  mother  to  her  consented.  But 
straightway  there  was  trouble.  Her  brother  had  chosen 
a  brave  for  her,  a  fellow  noted  for  his  fighting  propen 
sities  and  his  love  of  drink.  It  was  surmised  that  he 
was  buying  her.  She  shrank  from  him  with  horror. 
He  had  had  two  wives  already,  and  rumor  said  he  had 
beaten  one  to  death.  I  was  ready  to  leave  with  my 
men  and  pack,  and  she  came  to  me  in  terror  and  de 
spair.  She  would  have  killed  herself,  I  know,  before 
she  could  have  gone  to  such  a  brute.  We  loved  each 
other,  and  the  old  woman  Nasauka  pitied  us,  and  had  a 


84          A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

strong  liking  for  me.  So  it  was  arranged.  I  was  to 
start  with  my  people,  leaving  her  behind.  When  the 
train  was  several  days  under  way  I  was  to  remain  at 
a  given  point  where  Nasauka  was  to  meet  me  with  the 
girl,  and  then  return  to  ward  suspicion  from  the  right 
track.  I  only  hope  the  poor  woman  did  not  suffer  for 
her  kindly  sympathy  for  us.  We  made  our  way  along 
without  any  alarm.  At  a  mission  station  a  priest  mar 
ried  us.  And  now  we  are  safe  here  and  doubtless 
unsuspected.  But  I  shall  not  expose  myself  to  any 
dangers,  at  least  for  several  years  to  come.  There 
are  other  trails  to  work  on.  Or  we  may  go  farther 
south." 

"Quite  a  romantic  story,  Marchand.  The  saints  be 
praised  that  you  rescued  her  from  such  a  life,  though 
I  think  she  would  have  chosen  death  rather.  I  have 
known  of  several  instances.  Yes,  it  will  be  safer  not 
to  visit  the  old  hunting  ground,  even  if  the  brave  sol 
aces  himself  with  a  new  wife." 

"And  now  you  must  see  her.  I  know  there  is  a  little 
prejudice,  and,"  with  a  cynical  sort  of  smile,  "if  I  had 
a  sister  I  should  not  let  her  marry  an  Indian  if  I  had 
to  shut  her  up  in  a  convent.  But  there  are  many 
charming  Indian  girls  and  kindly  hearted  squaws,  true 
as  steel,  who  will  suffer  anything  rather  than  betray. 
Strange,  too,  when  you  find  so  much  deceit  and  false 
ness  and  cruelty  among  the  men." 

"The  women  take  all  the  virtues,  perhaps.  Yes,  I 
shall  be  glad  to  welcome  you.  To-morrow  you  will 
bring  her  to  dine  with  us.  Meanwhile,  you  have  found 
a  home?" 

"With  the  Garreaus.  Pierre  did  the  same  thing,  you 
know,  and  is  happy  enough  with  his  two  pretty  chil 
dren.  Ah,  when  you  see  my  beautiful  wife  you  will 


BY  THE  FIRESIDE  85 

not  wonder  that  I  went  mad  for  her,"  laughing  with  a 
kind  of  gay  triumph. 

Ah,  if  he  had  been  brave  enough  at  twenty  to  fly  with 
Renee  Freneau  !  But  would  she  have  dared  an  unblessed 
marriage?  And  then  neither  dreamed  of  such  a  result 
from  the  journey  to  Canada. 

"I  shall  not  blame  you,"  Gaspard  answered  gravely. 
"And  if  you  want  a  staunch  friend,  here  he  is,"  spring 
ing  up  and  holding  out  his  hand. 

"A  thousand  thanks,  Gaspard  Denys.  I  wanted  to 
tell  you  my  story.  It  is  not  for  every  one,  only  the 
fact  that  I  have  loved  and  married  her.  And  now  it 
grows  late.  Good-night." 

They  clasped  hands  again  cordially.  Denys  shut  his 
shop  door  and  went  through  to  the  other  room.  Mere 
Lunde  was  telling  over  some  beads.  Renee  sat  in  the 
chimney  corner,  but  the  fire  was  out  long  ago. 

"Why  did  you  let  that  man  talk  so  long  to  you?" 
with  pretty  imperiousness.  "And  I  grew  very  sleepy. 
But  I  wanted  to  say  good-night." 

"He  had  much  to  relate,  a  story  you  will  like  to  hear 
sometime.  And  he  is  coming  to-morrow  to  bring  a 
pretty  Indian  wife  that  he  found  up  by  the  Strait  of 
Michilimackinac.  That  is  a  long  name,  is  it  not?" 

"And  is  the  strait  long — as  long  as  to  the  end  of  the 
millpond?" 

"It  is  of  more  account.  It  connects  the  big  Lake 
Michigan  with  Lake  Huron." 

Geography  had  not  come  to  be  one  of  the  studies, 
and  the  only  maps  were  the  traders'  rough  outlines 
of  journeys. 

She  was  not  considering  the  lakes.  Her  thoughts 
were  as  rapid  as  a  bird's  flight. 

"Is  she  like  Mattawissa?" 


86         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Oh,  younger,  much  younger.  Only  a  girl.  Fifteen 
or  sixteen  perhaps.  They  will  come  to  dinner  to-mor 
row.  Mere  Lunde,"  raising  his  voice  a  little,  "we 
shall  have  guests  to-morrow.  Give  us  a  good  din 
ner." 

"Guests!     How  many?"  in  a  cheerful  tone. 

"Oh,  only  two.  A  young  trader  and  his  wife,  a 
pretty  Indian  girl.  Unless,  indeed,  some  one  else  drops 
in."  ' 

This  often  happened  in  a  town  where  there  were  no 
inns,  and  sometimes  led  to  rather  amusing  episodes 
when  a  traveller  mistook  the  wide-open  doors  and  a 
bountiful  table  for  a  hostelry. 

"Did  you  see  her?"  asked  Renee,  following  out  her 
own  thoughts. 

"No,  but  I  have  known  him  some  time.  He  was  a 
young  lad  here  in  the  town,  Frangois  Marchand." 

Mere  Lunde  shut  down  the  cover  of  the  box  that 
held  her  beads,  and  picked  up  the  end  of  her  stout 
apron.  It  always  seemed  to  assist  her  memory. 

"Marchand.     And  a  boy.     Had  he  very  blue  eyes?" 

"Yes,  and  he  has  them  still,"  laughed  Denys. 

"Then  I  know.  He  was  a  nice  lad.  It  is  a  thousand 
pities  he  has  married  an  Indian.  Yes,  you  shall  have 
a  good  dinner.  Renee,  it  is  time  thou  went  to  bed." 

Renee  rose  and  kissed  Uncle  Gaspard.  She  had, 
ever  since  her  illness,  that  seemed  to  have  drawn  them 
nearer  together,  if  such  a  thing  had  been  possible. 

As  a  great  honor  the  next  day,  she  brought  out  her 
pretty  bowl  and  filled  it  with  flowers.  Uncle  Gaspard 
had  made  a  small  table  with  a  drawer  that  held  Mere 
Lunde's  beads  and  some  other  choice  articles,  and  had 
a  shelf  low  down  on  which  was  kept  a  work-basket 
with  sewing  materials,  for  at  times  Renee  was  seized 


BY  THE   FIRESIDE  87 

with  a  fit  of  devotion  to  her  needle.  On  the  top  of  the 
table  she  set  the  bowl. 

Curious  eyes  had  followed  Frangois  Marchand  down 
the  Rue  de  1'Eglise.  For  with  a  vanity  quite  natural 
the  young  girl  had  taken  in  her  flight  her  beautifully 
ornamented  dress  that  would  have  adorned  any  Indian 
bride.  Long  afterward  in  the  Marchand  family  they 
used  to  display  grandmere's  exquisitely  worked  suit. 

Gaspard  Denys  with  Renee  by  the  hand  went  out  to 
the  gate  to  bid  them  welcome.  Renee  almost  stared. 
A  slim,  graceful  figure  of  medium  height,  with  a  face 
that  in  some  towns  would  have  attracted  more  atten 
tion  than  the  attire.  Large,  soft  eyes  of  dusky,  velvety 
blackness,  a  complexion  just  tinted  with  Indian  blood, 
the  cheeks  blossoming  in  the  most  exquisite  rose  hue, 
while  the  lips  were  cherry  red.  Her  long  hair  was 
brushed  up  from  her  straight,  low  brow,  held  with  a 
band  of  glittering  bead  work,  and  falling  about  her 
shoulders  like  a  veil,  much  softer  and  finer  than  ordi 
nary  Indian  hair.  Her  short  skirt  had  a  band  of  shin 
ing  white  feathers  overlapping  each  other,  with  here 
and  there  a  cluster  of  yellow  ones  that  resembled  a 
daisy.  The  fine,  elegantly  dressed  fawnskin  was  like 
velvet.  The  bodice  was  wrought  with  beads  and  vari 
ously  colored  threads  and  a  sort  of  lace  the  Indian 
women  made,  though  it  was  an  infrequent  employment, 
being  rather  tedious.  Over  her  shoulders  a  cape  of 
soft-dressed,  creamy  skin,  with  designs  worked  here 
and  there  in  fine  detail. 

She  colored  daintily  on  being  presented  to  M.  Denys, 
and  he  in  turn  brought  forward  his  little  protege,  who 
held  up  her  head  proudly  and  felt  almost  as  tall.  But 
a  second  glance  conquered  Renee.  She  proffered  both 
hands  cordially. 


88         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  I  shall  like  you,"  she  cried  frankly. 
How  could  any  one  help  adoring  so  much  beauty !  For 
Renee  was  not  envious  of  beauty  alone. 

The  young  wife  took  the  hands  with  glad  pressure, 
and  they  went  in  together. 

"Here  is  a  friend  who  remembers  you,"  said  Denys 
to  Marchand.  "Her  son  died,  and  at  that  juncture  I 
wanted  a  housekeeper.  She  fits  in  admirably." 

Mere  Lunde  trembled  with  delight  when  he  shook 
her  hand  so  heartily  and  expressed  his  pleasure  at  see 
ing  her  again,  declaring  that  she  had  grown  younger 
instead  of  older,  which  was  true  enough,  so  great  a 
restorer  is  freedom  from  care  and  fear  of  coming  want. 

"But  the  child  ?"  said  Marchand  with  curiosity  in  his 
eyes. 

The  child  was  playing  hostess  to  the  young  wife 
with  the  ease  and  grace  of  a  true  Frenchwoman,  and 
displaying  the  adornments  of  her  room.  This  and  that 
had  come  from  Mattawissa,  who  made  beautiful  articles 
that  Uncle  Gaspard  sent  to  New  Orleans,  and  who  was 
sweet  and  friendly,  not  like  some  of  the  morose  old 
Indian  women  about.  But  then  Mattawissa  was  not 
old. 

Gaspard  smiled  at  the  little  girl's  chatter,  and  ex 
plained  briefly. 

"One  would  hardly  think  such  a  pretty  innocent  thing 
could  belong  to  old  Antoine!  Is  he  still  in  with  the 
river  pirates?  His  goods  must  be  hidden  somewhere. 
He  does  not  keep  them  in  the  house,  it  would  seem,  for 
the  guards  found  nothing  when  they  searched." 

"He  is  a  shrewd  old  dog,"  replied  Gaspard.  "But 
his  wife  and  his  daughter  were  of  a  different  kind. 
And  you  see  he  could  not  have  taken  charge  of  the 
child." 


BY  THE    FIRESIDE  89 

Marchand  nodded. 

The  dinner  was  certainly  Mere  Lunde's  best.  The 
men  had  their  talk  about  trade  and  who  was  prosper 
ing,  but  the  two  girls,  who  sat  side  by  side,  had  some 
gay  laughs,  and  occasionally  hard  work  to  understand 
each  other.  Wawataysee,  the  Firefly,  as  she  was  called 
in  her  native  language,  knew  a  little  French  and  a  little 
English,  and  often  confused  them.  Renee  had  picked 
up  a  few  words  of  English,  but  the  tongue  was  quite 
despised  at  that  time.  And  when  the  dinner  was 
through  they  went  out  to  walk,  pausing  at  the  little  old 
church  and  the  priest's  house  on  the  way  to  the  fort, 
and  the  little  plot  about. 

Father  Valentine  came  out  and  gave  them  a  cordial 
greeting.  Denys  did  the  honors. 

The  priest  bent  his  head  close  to  Marchand's. 

''You  have  been  true  and  fair  with  this  beautiful  girl  ?" 
he  asked  a  little  anxiously.  "She  is  your  lawful 
wife?" 

"Yes,  oh,  a  thousand  times  yes.  Here  is  the  good 
father's  signature  and  that  of  the  witnesses.  It  was 
at  the  little  mission  at  St.  Pierre's." 

He  took  out  a  bundle  of  papers  in  a  deerskin  wallet. 
Tied  securely  in  a  little  package  by  itself  was  the 
priest's  certificate." 

Father  Valentine  nodded,  well  pleased.  "And  she 
is  a  baptized  Christian,"  he  added.  "I  wish  you  both 
much  happiness." 

"Suppose  you  keep  this  awhile  for  me,"  said  Mar 
chand,  "while  I  am  changing  about.  I  hardly  know 
yet  where  I  shall  settle." 

"Gladly  will  I  oblige  you.  But  why  not  stay  here, 
my  son?  St.  Louis  needs  industry  and  energy  and 
capable  citizens  for  her  upbuilding." 


90         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"I  am  thinking  of  it,  I  confess.  I  have  already  met 
with  a  warm  welcome  from  old  friends." 

They  walked  round  about  the  fort.  Wawataysee 
knew  curious  legends  of  Pontiac  and  had  heard  of  the 
siege  of  Detroit.  Indeed,  many  of  the  Hurons  had 
participated  in  it.  And  here  was  the  end  of  so  much 
bravery  and  energy,  misdirected,  and  of  no  avail  against 
the  invincible  march  of  the  white  man. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AT  THE  KINC/S  BALL. 

IT  was  a  very  gay  summer  to  Renee  de  Longueville. 

Rosalie  Pichou  protested  and  grew  angry  at  being 
superseded. 

"She  is  only  an  Indian  after  all,"  the  girl  exclaimed 
disdainfully.  "And  my  mother  thinks  it  a  shame 
M'sieu  Marchand  should  have  married  her  when  there 
were  so  many  nice  girls  in  St.  Louis." 

"But  she  is  beautiful  and  sweet.  And,  Rosalie,  Uncle 
Gaspard  will  not  care  to  have  you  come  if  you  say 
ugly  things  about  her." 

"Well,  I  can  stay  away.  There  are  plenty  of  girls 
to  play  with.  And  I  shall  soon  be  a  young  ma'm'selle 
and  have  lovers  of  my  own,  then  I  shall  not  care  for 
a  little  chit  like  you.  You  can  even  send  the  cat  back 
if  you  like." 

The  cat  had  grown  big  and  beautiful  and  kept  the 
place  free  from  mice  and  rats,  which  was  a  great  object 
in  the  storeroom.  Uncle  Gaspard  said  he  would  not 
trade  it  for  a  handsome  silver  foxskin,  which  everybody 
knew  was  worth  a  great  deal  of  money  in  France. 

Madame  Marchand  made  many  friends  by  her  grace 
and  amiability.  She  taught  Renee  some  beautiful 
handiwork,  and  with  the  little  girl  was  always  a  wel 
come  visitor  at  Mattawissa's,  though  at  first  they  had 
as  much  difficulty  understanding  each  other's  Indian 
language  as  if  it  had  been  English.  But  what  a  lovely, 
joyous  summer  it  was,  with  its  walks  and  water  excur 
sions  up  and  down  the  river  and  on  the  great  pond ! 


92         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

On  Saturday  she  went  with  Renee  to  be  instructed  in 
the  Catechism,  and  whichever  father  was  there  he 
seemed  impressed  with  Wawataysee's  sweet  serious 
ness  and  gentle  ways. 

Then  autumn  came  on.  The  great  fields  of  corn 
were  cut,  the  grapes  gathered  and  the  wine  made.  The 
traders  came  in  again  and  boats  plied  up  and  down. 
Uncle  Gaspard  was  very  busy,  and  the  men  about  said, 
making  money.  The  women  wondered  if  Renee  de 
Longueville  would  get  it  all,  and  what  old  Antoine 
Freneau  had ;  if  so  she  would  be  a  great  heiress. 

There  were  nuts  to  gather  as  well,  and  merry  parties 
haunted  the  woods  for  them.  Oh,  what  glorious  days 
these  were,  quite  enough  to  inspirit  any  one!  Then 
without  much  warning  a  great  fleecy  wrap  of  snow  fell 
over  everything,  but  the  sledging  and  the  shouting  had 
as  much  merriment  in  it. 

Gaspard  Denys  did  not  want  Renee  to  go  to  mid 
night  mass  at  Christmastide. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  much  bigger  and  stronger  now,"  she 
said.  "I  am  not  going  to  be  such  a  baby  as  to  take 
cold.  Oh,  you  will  see." 

She  carried  her  point,  of  course.  He  could  seldom 
refuse  her  anything.  And  the  next  morning  she  was 
bright  enough  to  go  to  church  again.  And  how  sweet 
it  was  to  see  the  children  stop  on  the  porch  and  with 
bowed  heads  exclaim,  "Your  blessing,  ma  mere,  your 
blessing,  mon  pere,"  and  shake  hands  with  even  the 
poorest,  giving  them  good  wishes. 

Then  all  parties  went  home  to  a  family  breakfast. 
Even  the  servants  were  called  in.  Then  the  children 
ran  about  with  the  etrennes  to  each  other. 

"Uncle  Gaspard,"  Renee  said,  "I  want  to  take  some 
thing  to  my  grandfather.  He  brought  me  that  beau- 


AT  THE  KING'S  BALL  93 

tiful  chain  and  cross  last  year,  and  I  made  a  cake  that 
Mere  Lunde  baked,  and  candied  some  pears,  thinking 
of  him." 

"Perhaps  he  is  not  home.     You  can  never  tell." 

"He  was  yesterday.  M.  Marchand  saw  him.  Will 
you  go?" 

"You  had  better  have  Mere  Lunde.  I  am  busy.  But 
if  I  can  find  time  I  will  walk  down  and  meet  you.  And 
— Renee,  do  not  go  in." 

"I  will  heed,"  she  answered  smilingly. 

The  road  was  hardly  broken  outside  the  stockade. 
Once  or  twice  she  slipped  and  fell  into  the  snow,  but 
it  was  soft  and  did  not  hurt  her.  Mere  Lunde  grumbled 
a  little. 

"There  is  a  smoke  coming  from  the  chimney,"  Renee 
cried  joyfully.  "Let  us  go  around  to  the  kitchen 
door." 

They  knocked  two  or  three  times.  They  could  hear 
a  stir  within,  and  presently  the  door  was  opened  a  mere 
crack. 

"Grandfather,"  the  child  began,  "I  have  come  to 
wish  you  a  good  Christmas.  I  am  sorry  you  were  not 
at  church  to  hear  how  the  little  babe  Jesus  was  born 
for  our  sakes,  and  how  glad  all  the  stars  were,  even,  so 
glad  that  they  sang  together.  And  I  have  brought  you 
some  small  gifts,  a  cake  I  made  for  you,  alone,  yester 
day.  You  made  me  such  a  beautiful  gift  last  year 
when  I  was  ill." 

"And  you've  come  for  another!  That's  always  the 
way,"  he  returned  gruffly. 

"No,  grandfather,  I  do  not  want  anything,  only  to 
give  you  this  basket  with  good  wishes  and  tell  you  that 
I  am  well  and  happy,"  she  said  in  a  proud,  sweet  voice, 
and  set  the  basket  down  on  the  stone  at  the  doorway. 


94         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"It  would  not  be  quite  right  for  you  to  give  me  any 
thing  this  year." 

Her  gray  fur  cloak  covered  her,  and  her  white  fur 
cap  over  her  fair  curls  gave  her  a  peculiar  daintiness. 

"Good-by,"  she  continued,  "with  many  good 
wishes." 

He  looked  after  her  in  a  kind  of  dazed  manner.  And 
she  did  not  want  anything!  True,  she  had  enough. 
Gaspard  Denys  took  good  care  of  her — he  was  too  old 
to  be  bothered  with  a  child. 

But  she  skipped  along  very  happily.  The  Mar- 
chands  were  coming  in  to  supper,  and  in  the  mean 
while  she  and  Mere  Lunde  would  concoct  dainty  messes. 
She  would  not  go  out  sledding  with  the  children  lest  she 
should  take  cold  again. 

It  was  all  festival  time  now.  It  seemed  as  if  people 
had  nothing  to  do  but  to  be  gay  and  merry.  Fiddling 
and  singing  everywhere,  and  some  of  the  voices  would 
have  been  bidden  up  to  a  high  price  in  more  modern 
times. 

And  on  New  Year's  day  the  streets  were  full  of  young 
men  who  went  from  door  to  door  singing  a  queer  song, 
she  thought,  when  she  came  to  know  it  well  afterward. 
Part  of  it  was,  "We  do  not  ask  for  much,  only  the 
eldest  daughter  of  the  house.  We  will  give  her  the 
finest  of  the  wine  and  feast  her  and  keep  her  feet 
warm,"  which  seemed  to  prefigure  the  dance  a  few  days 
hence.  Sometimes  the  eldest  daughter  would  come 
out  with  a  contribution,  and  these  were  all  stored  away 
to  be  kept  for  the  Epiphany  ball. 

In  the  evening  they  sang  love  songs  at  the  door  or 
window  of  the  young  lady  to  whom  they  were  partial, 
and  if  the  fancy  was  returned  or  welcomed  the  fair 
one  generally  made  some  sign.  And  then  they  said 


AT  THE  KING'S  BALL 


95 


good-night  to  the  master  and  mistress  of  the  house 
hold  and  wished  them  a  year's  good  luck. 

If  a  pretty  girl  or  even  a  plain  one  was  out  on  New 
Year's  day  unattended,  a  young  fellow  caught  her, 
kissed  her,  and  wished  her  a  happy  marriage  and  a 
prosperous  year.  Sometimes,  it  was  whispered,  there 
had  a  hint  been  given  beforehand  and  the  right  young 
fellow  found  the  desired  girl. 

But  the  king's  ball  was  the  great  thing.  In  the  early 
afternoon  the  dames  and  demoiselles  met  and  the  gifts 
were  arranged  for  the  evening.  Of  the  fruit  and  flour 
a  big  cake  was  baked  in  which  were  put  four  large 
beans.  When  all  was  arranged  the  girls  and  the  mothers 
donned  their  best  finery,  some  of  it  half  a  century  old, 
and  kept  only  for  state  occasions.  The  older  people 
opened  the  ball  with  the  minuet  de  la  cour,  which  was 
quite  grand  and  formal. 

Then  the  real  gayety  began.  With  it  all  there  was 
a  certain  charming  respect,  a  kind  of  fine  breeding  the 
French  never  lost.  Old  gentlemen  danced  with  the 
young  girls,  and  the  young  men  with  matrons.  Chil 
dren  were  allowed  in  also,  and  had  corners  to  them 
selves.  It  was  said  of  them  that  the  French  were  born 
dancing. 

There  were  no  classes  in  this  festivity.  Even  some 
of  the  upper  kind  of  slaves  came,  and  the  young  Indians 
ventured  in. 

Gaspard  Denys  took  the  little  girl,  who  was  all  eager 
ness.  M.  and  Madame  Garreau  brought  their  guests, 
the  Marchands,  for  society  had  quite  taken  in  the  beau 
tiful  young  Indian,  who  held  her  head  up  so  proudly 
no  one  would  have  dared  to  offer  her  a  slight. 

Among  the  gayest  was  Barbe  Guion.  She  had  not 
taken  young  Maurice,  who  had  gone  off  to  New  Or- 


96         A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

leans.  People  were  beginning  to  say  that  she  was  a 
bit  of  a  coquette.  Madame  Renaud  announced  that 
Alphonse  Maurice  was  too  trifling  and  not  steady 
enough  for  a  good  husband.  In  her  heart  Barbe  knew 
that  she  had  never  really  meant  to  marry  him. 

At  midnight  the  cake  was  cut  and  every  young  girl 
had  a  piece.  This  was  the  great  amusement,  and  every 
body  thronged  about. 

"A  bean !  a  bean !"  cried  Manon  Dupont,  holding  it 
high  above  her  head  so  all  could  see. 

Then  another,  one  of  the  pretty  Aubry  girls,  whose 
sister  had  been  married  at  Easter. 

"And  I,  too,"  announced  Barbe  Guion,  laughing. 

They  cleared  a  space  for  the  four  queens  to  stand 
out  on  the  floor.  What  eager  glances  the  young  men 
cast. 

Manon  Dupont  chose  her  lover,  as  every  one  sup 
posed  she  would,  but  there  was  no  fun  or  surprise  in 
it,  though  a  general  assent. 

"And  how  will  she  feel  at  the  next  ball  when  he  has 
to  choose  a  queen?"  said  some  one.  "She  is  a  jealous 
little  thing." 

Ma'm'selle  Aubry  glanced  around  with  a  coquettish 
air  and  selected  the  handsomest  young  fellow  in  the 
room. 

Who  would  Barbe  Guion  choose  ?  She  looked  dainty 
enough  in  a  white  woollen  gown  with  scarlet  cloth 
bands ;  and  two  or  three  masculine  hearts  beat  with  a 
thump,  as  the  eyes  fairly  besought. 

Gaspard  Denys  was  talking  with  the  burly  com 
mandant  of  the  fort,  though  it  must  be  admitted  there 
was  very  little  to  command.  She  went  over  to  him  and 
handed  him  her  rose. 


AT  THE  KING'S  BALL  97 

He  bowed  and  a  slight  flush  overspread  his  face, 
while  her  eyes  could  not  conceal  her  delight. 

"You  do  me  a  great  deal  of  honor,  ma'm'selle,  but 
you  might  have  bestowed  your  favor  on  a  younger  and 
more  suitable  man.  I  thank  you  for  the  compliment," 
and  he  pinned  the  rose  on  his  coat. 

She  smiled  with  a  softened  light  in  her  eyes. 

•'It  is  the  first  time  I  have  had  a  chance  to  choose  a 
king,"  she  said  in  a  caressing  sort  of  voice.  "I  could 
not  have  suited  myself  better.  And — I  am  almost 
eighteen.  Elise  was  married  a  year  before  that." 

"You  are  not  single  for  lack  of  admirers,  ma'm'selle." 
She  remembered  he  used  to  call  her  Barbe.  "What 
did  you  do  with  Alphonse,  send  him  away  with  a  broken 
heart?" 

"His  was  not  the  kind  of  heart  to  break,  monsieur. 
And  a  girl  cannot  deliberately  choose  bad  luck.  There 
is  sorrow  enough  when  it  comes  unforeseen." 

Then  they  took  their  places.  Renee  had  been  very 
eager  at  first  and  watched  the  two  closely.  M.  Mar- 
chand  had  appealed  to  her  on  some  trifle,  and  now  she 
saw  Barbe  and  Uncle  Gaspard  take  their  places  in  the 
dance. 

"Did  she — choose  Uncle  Gaspard?"  the  child  ex 
claimed  with  a  long  respiration  that  was  like  a  sigh, 
while  a  flush  overspread  her  face. 

"He  is  the  finest  man  in  the  room!  I  would  have 
chosen  him  myself  if  I  had  been  a  maid.  And  if  you 
had  been  sixteen  wouldn't  you  have  taken  him,  little 
girl?  Well,  your  day  will  come,"  in  a  gay  tone. 

Wawataysee  placed  her  arm  over  the  child's  shoulder. 
"Let  us  go  around  here,  we  can  see  them  better.  What 
an  odd  way  to  do !  And  very  pretty,  too !" 


98        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

Renee's  first  feeling  was  that  she  would  not  look. 
Then  with  a  quick  inconsequence  she  wanted  to  see 
every  step,  every  motion,  every  glance.  Her  king! 
Barbe  Guion  had  chosen  him,  and  the  child's  eyes 
flashed. 

It  was  a  beautiful  dance,  and  the  gliding,  skimming 
steps  of  light  feet  answered  the  measure  of  the  music 
exquisitely.  Other  circles  formed.  The  kings  and 
the  queens  were  not  to  have  it  all  to  themselves. 

The  balls  were  often  kept  up  till  almost  morning, 
though  the  children  and  some  of  the  older  people  went 
home.  Gaspard  made  his  way  through  the  crowd. 
Madame  Marchand  beckoned  him,  and  as  he  neared 
them  he  saw  Renee  was  clinging  to  her  with  a  desperate 
emotion  next  to  tears. 

"Is  it  not  time  little  ones  were  in  bed?"  she  asked 
with  her  fascinating  smile  and  in  pretty,  broken  French. 
"Madame  Garreau  wishes  to  retire.  It  is  beautiful, 
and  every  one  is  so  cordial.  I  have  danced  with  de 
light,"  and  her  pleasure  shone  in  her  eyes.  "But  we 
will  take  the  child  safe  to  Mere  Lunde  if  it  is  your  will." 

"Oh,  thank  you.  Yes.  You  will  go,  Renee?  You 
look  tired."  She  was  pale  and  her  eyes  were  heavy. 

"And  you — you  stay  here  and  are  Ma'm'selle  Barbe's 
king,"  she  said  in  a  tone  of  plaintive  reproach  that  went 
to  his  heart. 

"That  is  only  for  to-night.  There  are  other  queens 
beside  her." 

"But  she  is  your  queen."  The  delicate  emphasis 
amused  him,  it  betrayed  the  rankling  jealousy. 

"And  you  are  my  queen  as  well,  to-morrow,  next 
week,  all  the  time.  So  do  not  grudge  her  an  hour  or 
two.  See,  I  am  going  to  give  you  her  rose,  my  rose, 
to  take  home  with  you." 


AT  THE  KING'S  BALL  99 

She  smiled,  albeit  languidly,  and  held  out  her  small 
hand,  grasping  it  with  triumph. 

He  broke  the  stem  as  he  drew  it  out,  leaving  the 
pin  in  his  coat. 

"Now  let  me  see  you  wrapped  up  snug  and  tight. 
Mind  you  don't  get  any  cold.  Tell  Mere  Lunde  to 
warm  the  bed  and  give  you  something  hot  to  drink." 

She  nodded  and  the  party  went  to  the  dressing  room. 
The  two  Indian  women  chattered  in  their  own  language, 
or  rather  in  a  patois  that  they  had  adopted.  Wawatay- 
see  was  very  happy,  and  her  soft  eyes  shone  with  satis 
faction.  Her  husband  thought  her  the  prettiest  woman 
in  all  St.  Louis. 

Renee  gave  her  orders  and  Mere  Lunde  attended  to 
them  cheerfully. 

"For  if  you  should  fall  ill  again  our  hearts  would 
be  heavy  with  sorrow  and  anxiety,"  she  said. 

Renee  had  carried  the  rose  under  her  cloak  and  it 
was  only  a  little  wilted.  She  put  it  in  some  water 
herself,  and  brought  the  stand  near  the  fireplace,  for 
sometimes  it  would  freeze  on  the  outer  edges  of  the 
room,  though  they  kept  a  big  log  fire  all  night. 

Gaspard  went  back  to  Ma'm'selle  Barbe. 

"Oh,  your  rose!"  she  cried.     "Where  is  it?" 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  coat  as  if  he  had  not  known  it. 
"The  pin  is  left,"  he  said.  "What  a  crowd  there  is! 
St.  Louis  is  getting  overrun  with  people,"  laughing 
gayly.  "Give  me  a  rose  out  of  your  nosegay,  for  it 
would  signify  bad  luck  to  go  on  the  floor  without  it." 

He  took  one  and  fastened  it  in  his  coat  again,  and 
they  were  soon  merrily  dancing.  There  was  no  absolute 
need  of  changing  partners,  and  the  queens  were  proud 
of  keeping  their  admirers  all  the  evening. 

Barbe  was  delighted  and  happy,  for  Gaspard  evinced 


ioo       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

no  disposition  to  stray  off,  and  danced  to  her  heart's 
content,  if  not  his.  He  had  grown  finer  looking,  cer 
tainly,  since  he  had  relinquished  the  hardships  of  a  trap 
per's  life.  His  complexion  had  lost  the  weather-beaten 
look,  his  frame  had  filled  out,  and  strangely  enough, 
he  was  a  much  more  ready  talker.  Renee  chattered  so 
much,  asked  him  so  many  questions,  and  made  him  talk 
over  people  and  places  he  had  seen  that  it  had  given 
him  a  readiness  to  talk  to  women.  Men  could  always 
find  enough  to  say  to  each  other,  or  enjoy  silence  over 
their  pipes. 

She  seemed  to  grow  brighter  instead  of  showing 
fatigue,  and  her  voice  had  musical  cadences  in  it  very 
sweet  to  hear.  The  touch  of  her  hand  on  his  arm  or 
his  shoulder  in  the  dance  did  give  him  a  peculiar 
sort  of  thrill.  She  was  a  very  sweet,  pretty  girl.  He 
was  glad  not  to  have  her  wasted  on  Alphonse 
Maurice. 

But  the  delicious  night  came  to  an  end  for  her.  There 
was  a  curious  little  strife  among  some  of  the  young 
men  to  make  a  bold  dash  and  capture  a  queen.  The 
girls  were  sometimes  willing  enough  to  be  caught. 
Barbe  had  skilfully  evaded  this,  he  noted. 

"Ma'm'selle  Guion  has  the  bravest  king  of  them  all," 
said  a  neighbor.  "He  is  a  fine  fellow.  I  wonder, 
Mere  Renaud,  you  do  not  fan  the  flame  into  a  blaze. 
He  is  prospering,  too.  Colonel  Chouteau  speaks  highly 
of  him  and  holds  out  a  helping  hand.  If  I  had  daugh 
ters  no  one  would  suit  me  better." 

Madame  Renaud  smiled  and  nodded  as  if  she  had  a 
secret  confidence. 

Mothers  in  old  St.  Louis  were  very  fond  and  proud 
of  their  daughters  and  were  watchful  of  good  oppor 
tunities  for  them.  And  those  who  had  none  rather  en- 


AT  THE  KING'S  BALL  101 

vied  them.  It  was  the  cordial  family  affection  that 
made  life  in  these  wilderness  places  delightful. 

Barbe  was  being  wound  up  in  her  veil  so  that  her 
pretty  complexion  should  suffer  no  ill  at  this  coldest 
hour  of  the  twenty-four,  after  being  heated  in  the  dance. 
She  looked  very  charming,  very  tempting.  If  he  had 
been  a  lover  he  would  have  kissed  her. 

"You  come  so  seldom  now,"  she  said  in  a  tone  of 
seductive  complaint.  "And  we  were  always  such 
friends  when  you  returned  from  your  journeys.  The 
children  have  missed  you  so  much.  And  Lisa  won 
ders—" 

"I  suppose  it  is  being  busy  every  day.  At  that  time 
you  know  there  was  a  holiday  between." 

"But  there  is  no  business  now  until  spring  opens," 
in  a  pleading  tone. 

"Except  for  the  householder,  the  shopkeeper.  Oh, 
you  have  no  idea  how  ingenious  I  have  become.  And 
the  men  drop  in  to  talk  over  plans  and  berate  the  Gover 
nor  because  things  are  not  in  better  shape.  We  would 
fare  badly  in  an  attack." 

"Are  we  in  any  danger  from  the  British?" 

"One  can  never  tell.  Perhaps  they  may  take  up 
Pontiac's  wild  dream  of  driving  us  over  the  mountains 
into  the  sea.  No,"  with  a  short  laugh,  "I  am  not 
much  afraid.  And  our  Indians  are  friendly  also." 

"Come,  Barbe,"  counselled  Madame  Renaud,  but  she 
took  her  husband's  arm  and  marched  on  ahead  like  an 
astute  general. 

Barbe  clung  closely  to  her  attendant,  for  in  some 
places  it  was  slippery. 

"Next  time  you  will  transfer  your  attentions,"  she 
said  with  a  touch  of  regret.  "I  wonder  who  will  be 
your  queen  for  a  night?" 


102       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"The  prettiest  girl,"  he  said  gayly. 

"Madame  Marchand  is  beautiful." 

"But  she  is  no  longer  a  girl." 

"Oh,  no.     You  see  a  good  deal  of  her,  though?" 

"They  are  over  often.     We  are  excellent  friends." 

"Renee  is  quite  bewitched  with  her." 

"Yes,  they  are  very  fond  of  each  other." 

And  somehow  she,  Barbe,  was  no  more  fond  of  the 
child  than  the  child  was  of  her. 

Madame  Renaud  studied  her  sister's  face  as  they 
were  unwinding  their  wraps.  It  was  rather  pale,  not 
flushed  and  triumphant  as  she  hoped. 

Gaspard  Denys  stirred  the  fire  in  his  shop  and  threw 
himself  on  a  pile  of  skins  and  was  asleep  in  five  minutes. 
It  had  been  a  long  while  since  he  had  danced  all 
night. 

They  all  slept  late.  There  was  no  need  of  stirring 
early  in  the  morning.  They  made  no  idol  of  industry, 
as  the  energetic  settlers  on  the  eastern  coast  did.  Pleas 
ure  and  happiness  were  enough  for  them.  It  ran  in  the 
French  blood. 

When  Gaspard  woke  he  heard  a  sound  of  an  eager 
chattering  voice.  He  rubbed  his  limbs  and  stretched 
himself,  looked  down  on  his  red  sash  and  then  saw  a 
withered  red  rose  that  he  tossed  in  the  fire. 

"Ah,  little  one,  you  are  as  blithe  as  a  bee,"  was  his 
greeting. 

"Oh,  Uncle  Gaspard,  you  have  on  your  ball  clothes. 
When  did  you  come  home?"  she  asked. 

"I  dropped  asleep  in  them.  I  am  old  and  stiff  this 
morning.  I  tumbled  down  on  a  pile  of  skins  and 
stayed  there." 

"You  don't  look  very  old.  And — are  you  a  king 
now?"  rather  curiously. 


AT  THE  KING'S  BALL  103 

"I  must  be  two  weeks  hence.  Then  I  resign  my 
sceptre,  and  become  an  ordinary  person." 

"And  Mere  Lunde  said  you  had  to  choose  a  new 
queen."  There  was  a  touch  of  elation  in  her  voice. 

"That  is  so.  And  I  told  Ma'm'selle  Guion  I  should 
look  out  for  the  very  prettiest  girl.  I  shall  be  thinking 
all  the  time." 

"I  wish  you  could  take  Wawataysee.  She  is  the 
prettiest  of  anybody,  and  the  sweetest." 

"And  she  has  already  chosen  her  king  for  life." 

"The  breakfast  will  get  cold,"  warned  Mere 
Lunde. 

There  were  more  snows,  days  when  you  could  hardly 
stir  out  and  paths  had  to  be  shovelled.  The  next  ball 
night  it  stormed,  but  Renee  did  not  care  to  go,  because 
M.  and  Madame  Marchand  were  staying  all  night  and 
they  would  play  games  and  have  parched  corn  and 
cakes  and  spiced  drinks.  Wawataysee  would  sing,  too. 
And  though  the  songs  were  odd,  she  had  an  exquis 
ite  voice,  and  she  could  imitate  almost  any  bird,  as 
well  as  the  wind  flying  and  shrieking  through  the  trees, 
and  then  softening  with  sounds  of  spring. 

Sometimes  they  danced  together,  and  it  was  a  sight 
to  behold,  the  very  impersonation  of  grace;  soft,  lan 
guid  mazes  at  first  and  then  warming  into  flying  sprites 
of  the  forest.  And  how  Renee's  eyes  shone  and  her 
cheeks  blossomed,  while  the  little  moccasined  feet  made 
no  more  sound  than  a  mouse  creeping  about. 

There  was  no  especial  carnival  at  St.  Louis,  perhaps 
a  little  more  gayety  than  usual,  and  the  dances  winding 
up  at  midnight.  Nearly  every  one  went  to  church  the 
next  morning,  listened  to  the  prayers  reverently,  had 
a  small  bit  of  ashes  dropped  on  his  or  her  head,  went 
home  and  fasted  the  rest  of  the  day.  But  Lent  was 


io4       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

not  very  strictly  kept,  and  the  maids  were  preparing 
for  Easter  weddings. 

"It  is  strange,"  said  grandaunt  Guion,  "that  Barbe 
has  no  lover.  She  is  too  giddy,  too  much  of  a  coquette. 
She  will  be  left  behind.  And  she  is  too  pretty  to  turn 
into  an  old  maid.  Guion  girls  were  not  apt  to  hang 
on  hand." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  SURPRISE. 

THERE  was,  it  is  true,  a  side  not  so  simple  and 
wholesome,  and  this  had  been  gathering  slowly  since 
the  advent  of  the  governor.  More  drunken  men  were 
seen  about  the  levee.  There  was  talk  of  regular  orgies 
taking  place  at  the  government  house,  and  the  more 
thoughtful  men,  like  the  Chouteaus,  the  Guerins,  the 
Guions,  and  the  Lestourniers,  had  to  work  hard  to  get 
the  fortifications  in  any  shape,  and  the  improvements 
made  were  mostly  done  by  private  citizens. 

Of  course  there  were  many  rumors,  but  old  St.  Louis 
rested  securely  on  her  past  record.  What  the  people 
about  her  were  losing  or  gaining  did  not  seem  to 
trouble  her.  Now  and  then  a  river  pirate  was  caught, 
or  there  was  some  one  tripped  up  and  punished  who 
had  traded  unlawfully. 

This  had  been  the  case  with  a  French  Canadian 
named  Ducharme,  who  had  been  caught  violating  the 
treaty  law,  trading  with  Indians  in  Spanish  territory, 
and  giving  them  liberal  supplies  of  rum  in  order  to 
make  better  bargains  with  furs.  His  goods  were  seized 
and  confiscated,  but  he  was  allowed  to  go  his  way, 
breathing  threats  of  retaliation. 

France  had  recognized  the  independence  of  the  colo 
nies,  which  had  stirred  up  resentment  in  the  minds  of 
many  of  the  English  in  northern  Michigan.  It  was 
said  an  English  officer  at  Michilimackinac  had  formed 
a  plan  of  seizing  or  destroying  some  of  the  western 


106       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

towns  and  stations  where  there  was  likely  to  be  found 
booty  enough  to  reward  them.  Ducharme  joined  the 
scheme  eagerly  and  gathered  roving  bands  of  Ojibways. 
Winnebagoes  and  Sioux,  and  by  keeping  well  to  the 
eastern  side  of  the  Mississippi  marched  down  nearly 
opposite  Cabaret  Island,  and  crossed  over  to  attack  the 
town. 

Corpus  Christi  was  a  great  festival  day  of  the  church. 
Falling  late  in  May,  on  the  25th,  it  was  an  out-of-doors 
entertainment.  After  mass  had  been  said  in  the  morn 
ing,  women  and  children,  youths  and  maidens,  and  hus 
bands  who  could  be  spared  from  business,  went  out  for 
a  whole  day's  pleasure  with  baskets  and  bags  of  pro 
visions. 

The  day  was  magnificent.  The  fragrance  of  spruce 
and  fir,  the  breath  of  the  newly  grown  grasses,  the 
bloom  of  trees  and  flowers,  was  like  the  most  exhilarat 
ing  perfume,  and  stirred  all  the  senses. 

Spies  had  crept  down  the  woods  to  reconnoitre  and 
assure  themselves  their  arrival  had  not  been  suspected. 
It  seemed  indeed  an  opportune  moment.  It  was  now 
mid-afternoon.  There  had  been  dancing  and  merri 
ment,  the  children  had  run  and  played,  gathered  wild 
strawberries  and  flowers,  and  some  of  the  more  careful 
ones  had  collected  their  little  children  and  started  home 
ward. 

To  the  westward  was  Cardinal  Spring,  owned  by  a 
man  of  that  name,  but  considered  free  property.  He 
and  another  hunter  had  been  shooting  game,  and  as 
he  stooped  for  a  drink  his  companion  espied  an  Indian 
cautiously  creeping  through  the  trees. 

"Indians!  Indians!"  he  shouted,  and  fired. 

Cardinal  snatched  up  his  gun,  but  a  storm  of  bullets 
felled  him.  Riviere  was  captured.  A  young  French- 


THE  SURPRISE  107 

man,  catching  sight  of  the  body  of  Indians,  gave  the 
alarm. 

"Run  for  your  lives !     Fly  to  the  fort !"  he  shouted. 

There  were  men  working  in  the  fields,  and  nearly 
every  one  took  his  gun,  as  much  for  the  chance  at 
game  as  any  real  fear  of  Indians.  They  covered  the 
retreat  a  little,  and  as  this  was  a  reconnoitring  party, 
the  main  body  was  at  some  distance. 

"Fly !  Fly !"  Men  who  had  no  weapons  caught  little 
ones  in  their  arms  and  ran  toward  the  fort.  All  was 
wild  alarm. 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Colonel  Chouteau,  who  had  been 
busy  with  some  papers  of  importance. 

"The  Indians!     The  Indians!"  shouted  his  brother. 

"Call  out  the  militia!     Where  is  the  Governor?" 

"In  his  own  house,  drunk  as  usual,"  cried  Pierre 
indignantly,  and  he  ran  to  summon  the  soldiers. 

There  had  been  a  small  body  of  troops  under  the 
command  of  Captain  Cartabona,  a  Spaniard  sent  from 
Ste.  Genevieve  at  the  urgent  request  of  the  chief  citi 
zens,  but  it  being  a  holiday  they  were  away,  some  canoe 
ing  down  the  river  or  fishing,  and  of  the  few  to  be  found 
most  of  them  were  panic  stricken.  The  captain  had 
been  having  a  carouse  with  the  Governor. 

"Then  we  must  be  our  own  leaders.  To  arms!  to 
arms !  every  citizen !  It  is  for  your  wives  and  children !" 
was  the  inspiriting  cry. 

"You  shall  be  our  leader !"  was  shouted  in  one  voice 
almost  before  the  Colonel  had  ceased.  For  Colonel 
Chouteau  was  not  only  admired  for  his  friendliness  and 
good  comradeship,  but  trusted  to  the  last  degree. 

Every  man  rushed  for  his  gun  and  ran  to  the  rescue, 
hardly  knowing  what  had  happened  save  that  the  long- 
feared  attack  had  come  upon  them  unawares.  They 


io8       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

poured  out  of  the  fort,  but  the  flying  women  and  chil 
dren  were  in  the  advance  with  the  Indians  back  of  them. 

Colonel  Chouteau  marshalled  his  little  force  in  a 
circuitous  movement,  and  opened  a  volley  that  took 
the  Indians  by  surprise.  They  fell  back  brandishing 
their  arms  and  shouting  to  their  companions  to  come 
on.  Then  the  Colonel  saw  that  it  was  no  mere  casual 
attack,  but  a  premeditated  onslaught.  Already  bodies 
were  lying  on  the  ground  struggling  in  death  agonies. 

The  aim  was  so  good  that  the  assailants  halted,  then 
fell  back  to  wait  for  their  companions.  This  gave  most 
of  the  flying  and  terrified  throng  an  opportunity  to 
reach  the  fort.  For  the  wounded  nothing  could  be 
done  at  present. 

Now  the  streets  were  alive  with  men  who  had  no  time 
to  pick  out  their  own  families,  but  ran,  musket  or  rifle 
in  hand,  to  man  the  fort.  Colonel  Chouteau  and  his 
brother  Pierre  were  experienced  artillerists,  and  sta 
tioned  themselves  at  the  cannon. 

The  Indians  held  a  brief  colloquy  with  the  advancing 
body.  Then  it  was  seen  that  an  attack  was  determined 
upon.  They  approached  the  fort,  headed  by  several 
white  leaders,  and  opened  an  irregular  fire  on  the 
place. 

"Let  them  approach  nearer,"  commanded  the  Colonel. 
The  walls  of  the  stockade  and  the  roofs  of  the  nearest 
houses  were  manned  with  the  residents  of  the  town. 
A  shower  of  arrows  fell  among  them.  Surprised  at 
no  retaliation,  the  enemy  ventured  boldly,  headed  by 
Ducharme. 

Then  the  cannons  poured  out  their  volley,  which  swept 
down  the  foremost.  From  the  roofs  muskets  and  guns 
and  even  pistols  made  a  continuing  chorus.  Ducharme 
fell.  Two  of  the  white  leaders  were  wounded  also. 


THE  SURPRISE  109 

Then  another  discharge  from  the  cannons  and  the  red 
foes  fell  back.  The  plan  had  been  to  wait  until  almost 
dusk  for  the  attack,  but  the  incident  at  the  spring  had 
hastened  it. 

Ducharme  had  not  counted  on  the  strength  of  the 
fort,  and  he  knew  the  town  was  but  poorly  supplied 
with  soldiers,  so  he  had  persuaded  the  Indians  it  would 
fall  an  easy  prey  and  give  them  abundant  pillage.  But 
the  roar  and  the  execution  of  the  cannon  dismayed  them, 
and  many  of  them  fled  at  once.  Others  marched  slowly, 
helping  some  of  the  wounded. 

General  Cartabona  came  out  quite  sobered  by  the 
fierceness  of  the  attack. 

"Would  it  not  be  well  to  order  a  pursuit?"  he  ques 
tioned. 

"And  perhaps  fall  into  a  trap!"  returned  Colonel 
Chouteau  with  a  touch  of  scorn.  "No,  no ;  let  us  bring 
in  the  wounded  as  we  can." 

Gaspard  Denys  had  been  among  the  first  to  rush  to 
the  defence  of  the  town.  Marchand  had  gone  out  with 
the  party,  and  Mere  Lunde  was  to  care  for  Renee.  He 
had  not  stopped  to  look  or  inquire.  He  saw  Madame 
Renaud. 

"Oh,  thank  heaven  my  children  are  safe !  But  Barbe ! 
I  cannot  find  Barbe !"  she  cried. 

"And  Renee?"  his  voice  was  husky. 

"She  was  with  the  Marchands.  They  were  going 
to  the  woods.  Oh,  M'sieu  Denys,  what  a  horrible  thing ! 
And  we  felt  so  safe.  The  Indians  have  been  so  friendly. 
But  can  you  trust  them?" 

He  was  off  to  look  after  the  wounded.  A  number 
were  lying  dead  on  the  field.  No,  Renee  was  not  among 
them.  They  carried  the  wounded  in  gently,  the  dead 
reverently.  The  good  priest  proffered  his  services,  and 


no       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

Dr.  Montcrevier  left  his  beloved  experiments  to  come 
and  minister  to  them.  The  dead  were  taken  to  the 
church  and  the  priest's  house. 

All  was  confusion,  however.  Darkness  fell  before 
families  were  reunited.  Children  hid  away  in  corners 
crying,  and  were  too  terrified  to  come  out  even  at  the 
summons  of  friendly  voices.  Colonel  Chouteau  and 
his  brother  were  comforting,  aiding,  exhorting,  and 
manning  the  fort  anew.  General  Cartabona  set  guards 
at  the  gates  and  towers,  for  no  one  knew  what  might 
happen  before  morning. 

Denys  had  hurried  home  as  soon  as  he  could  be 
released.  "Renee!"  he  called.  "Mere  Lunde!"  but 
no  one  replied.  He  searched  every  nook  and  corner. 
He  asked  the  Pichous.  No  one  had  seen  them.  A  great 
pang  rent  his  heart.  And  yet — they  might  have  hidden 
in  the  forest.  Ah,  God  send  that  they  might  not  be 
taken  prisoners !  But  Marchand  was  with  them.  He 
knew  the  man's  courage  well.  He  would  fight  to  the 
death  for  them. 

"I  must  go  out  and  search,"  he  said  in  a  desperate 
tone.  "Who  will  accompany  me?" 

A  dozen  volunteered.  They  were  well  armed,  and 
carried  a  rude  lantern  made  of  tin  with  a  glass  in  one 
side  only.  They  saw  now  that  their  fire  had  done  good 
execution  among  their  red  foes.  The  trampled  ground 
showed  which  way  the  party  had  gone,  and  they  were 
no  longer  in  sight. 

"Let  us  try  the  woods.  They  came  by  the  way  of 
the  spring,"  said  one  of  the  party. 

They  found  the  body  of  Cardinal  and  that  of  an  old 
man,  both  dead.  They  plunged  into  the  woods,  and, 
though  aware  of  the  danger,  Denys  shouted  now  and 
then,  but  no  human  voice  replied.  Here,  there,  exam- 


THE  SURPRISE  in 

ining  some  thicket,  peering  behind  a  clump  of  trees, 
startling  the  denizen  of  the  woods,  or  a  shrill-voiced 
nighthawk,  and  then  all  was  silence  again. 

They  left  the  woods  and  crossed  the  strip  of  prairie. 
Here  lay  something  in  the  grass — a  body.  Denys 
turned  it  over. 

"My  God !"  he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  anguish.  "It 
is  Franc,  ois  Marchand." 

He  dropped  on  the  ground  overwhelmed.  If  he  was 
dead,  then  the  others  were  prisoners.  There  was  no 
use  to  search  farther  to-night.  To-morrow  a  scouting 
party  might  go  out. 

They  made  a  litter  of  the  men's  arms  and  carried 
Marchand  back  to  the  fort,  to  find  that  he  was  not 
dead,  though  he  had  a  broken  leg  and  had  received  a 
tremendous  blow  on  the  head. 

A  sad  morning  dawned  over  St.  Louis,  where  yester 
day  all  had  been  joy.  True,  it  might  have  been  much 
worse.  In  all  about  a  dozen  had  been  killed,  but  the 
wounded  and  those  who  had  fallen  and  been  crushed 
in  the  flight  counted  up  many  more.  And  some  were 
missing.  What  would  be  their  fate?  And  oh,  what 
would  happen  to  Wawataysee  if  some  roving  Indian 
should  recognize  her !  As  for  Renee,  if  he  had  not 
wholly  understood  before,  he  knew  now  how  the  child 
had  twined  herself  about  his  heart,  how  she  had  become 
a  part  of  his  life. 

Marchand's  blow  was  a  dangerous  one.  The  Gar- 
reaus  insisted  upon  nursing  and  caring  for  him,  but 
Madame  Garreau  was  wild  about  the  beautiful  Wawa 
taysee.  She  knew  the  Indian  character  too  well  to 
think  they  would  show  her  any  mercy,  if  she  was  recog 
nized  by  any  of  the  tribe.  And  Renee,  what  would  be 
her  fate? 


ii2       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

General  Cartabona  was  most  anxious  to  make  amends 
for  past  negligence.  The  militia  was  called  to  a  strict 
account  and  recruited  as  rapidly  as  possible,  and  the 
fortifications  made  more  secure.  He  took  counsel  with 
Colonel  Chouteau,  who  had  the  best  interests  of  the 
town  at  heart. 

"We  must  make  an  appeal  for  the  Governor's  re 
moval,"  insisted  the  Colonel.  "It  is  not  only  this  cow 
ardly  episode,  but  he  is  narrow-minded  and  avaricious, 
incompetent  in  every  respect,  and  drunk  most  of  the 
time.  He  cares  nothing  for  the  welfare  of  the  town,  he 
takes  no  interest  in  its  advancement.  After  such  men 
as  Piernas  and  Cruzat  he  is  most  despicable.  Any 
Frenchman  born  would  serve  Spain  better." 

"That  is  true.  I  will  head  a  petition  of  ejectment, 
and  make  it  strong  enough  to  be  heeded." 

The  dead  were  buried,  the  living  cared  for.  Even 
the  fallen  enemies  had  been  given  decent  sepulture  out 
side  the  town.  And  Gaspard  Denys  felt  that  he  must 
start  on  his  journey  of  rescue,  if  indeed  that  was  pos 
sible. 

He  chose  two  trusty  young  fellows,  after  shutting 
his  house  securely,  providing  his  party  with  ammuni 
tion,  and  provisions  for  a  part  of  their  journey,  as  much 
as  they  could  carry.  He  found  the  Indians  had  boats 
in  waiting  on  the  Illinois  River,  and  after  proceeding 
some  distance  they  had  separated  in  two  parties,  go 
ing  in  different  directions.  Some  of  the  prisoners  had 
been  left  here,  as  they  did  not  care  to  be  bothered  with 
them. 

The  one  party  kept  on  up  the  river.  They  learned 
there  were  some  women  with  them,  and  were  mostly 
Indians.  It  was  not  an  easy  trail  to  follow.  There 
had  been  a  quarrel  and  another  separation,  a  drunken 


THE  SURPRISE  113 

debauch,  part  stopping  at  an  Indian  village.  And  here 
Denys  heard  what  caused  him  almost  a  heart-break. 

They  had  fallen  in  with  some  Hurons  who  had  bought 
two  of  the  captives.  An  old  woman  was  set  free  with 
two  men  and  sent  down  the  river.  The  others  were 
going  up  north. 

"It  is  as  I  feared,  Jaques,"  he  said.  "They  will  carry 
Madame  Marchand  to  her  old  home  as  a  great  prize. 
Ah,  if  Fra^ois  were  only  well !  But  I  shall  go  on  for 
life  or  death.  I  will  not  ask  you  to  share  my  perils.  Wa- 
wataysee  came  from  somewhere  up  by  the  straits.  She 
ran  away  with  Marchand.  She  was  to  be  married  to 
an  old  Indian  against  her  will.  And  no  doubt  he  will 
be  wild  with  gratification  at  getting  her  back,  and  will 
treat  her  cruelly.  The  child  is  mine  and  I  must  save 
her  from  a  like  fate.  But  you  and  Pierre  may  return. 
I  will  not  hold  you  bound  by  any  promises." 

"I  am  in  for  the  adventure,"  and  Pierre  laughed, 
showing  his  white  teeth.  "I  am  not  a  coward  nor  a  man 
to  eat  one's  words.  I  am  fond  of  adventure.  I  will 
go  on." 

"I,  too,"  responded  Jaques  briefly. 

"You  are  good  fellows,  both  of  you.  I  shall  pray  for 
'your  safe  return,"  Denys  said,  much  moved  by  their 
devotion. 

"And  we  have  no  sweethearts,"  subjoined  Pierre  with 
a  touch  of  mirth.  "But  if  I  could  find  one  as  beautiful 
and  sweet  as  Madame  Marchand  I  should  be  paid  for 
a  journey  up  to  Green  Bay." 

"It  might  be  dangerous,"  said  Denys  sadly. 

He  wondered  if  it  was  really  Mere  Lunde  they  had 
set  free.  It  would  be  against  her  will,  he  was  sure, 
and  it  would  leave  the  two  quite  defenceless.  A  thou 
sand  remembrances  haunted  him  day  and  night.  He 


ii4       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

could  see  Renee's  soft  brown  eyes  in  the  dusk,  he  could 
hear  her  sweet  voice  in  the  gentle  zephyrs,  that  changed 
and  had  no  end  of  fascinating  tones.  All  her  arch,  pretty 
moods  came  up  before  him,  her  little  piquant  jealousies, 
her  pretty  assumptions  of  dignity  and  power,  her  dainty, 
authoritative  ways.  Oh,  he  could  not  give  her  up,  his 
little  darling. 

There  was  sorrow  in  more  than  one  household  in  old 
St.  Louis,  but  time  softened  and  healed  it.  And  now 
the  inhabitants  congratulated  themselves  on  their  free 
dom  heretofore  from  raids  like  these.  Towns  had  been 
destroyed,  prisoners  had  been  treated  to  almost  every 
barbarity.  Giving  up  their  lives  had  not  been  the 
worst. 

But  the  summer  came  on  gloriously,  and  Colonel 
Chouteau  made  many  plans  for  the  advancement  of 
the  town.  He  was  repairing  the  old  house  where  his 
friend  had  lived,  and  improving  the  grounds,  and  every 
one  felt  that  in  him  they  had  a  true  friend. 

One  July  day  three  worn  and  weary  people  came  in 
at  the  northern  gate,  and  after  the  guards  had  looked 
sharply  at  them  there  was  a  shout  of  joy.  Pierre  Du- 
chesne,  whose  family  had  lived  on  a  faint  hope,  young 
Normand  Fleurey,  and  Mere  Lunde,  looking  a  decade 
older  and  more  wrinkled  than  ever. 

She  sat  down  on  a  stone  and  wept  while  the  sounds 
of  joy  and  congratulation  were  all  about  her. 

Who  could  give  her  any  comfort?  She  suffered 
Gaspard  Denys's  pain  as  well  as  her  own.  And  though 
there  had  been  adventures  and  hiding  from  roving  In 
dians,  living  on  barks  and  roots,  she  could  not  tell  them 
over  while  her  heart  was  so  sore. 

She  went  to  the  old  house,  where  the  three  had  known 
so  much  content. 


THE  SURPRISE  115 

"He  will  come  back  some  day,"  she  said,  "but  the 
child — "  and  her  voice  would  break  at  that. 

She  heard  Marchand  had  been  very  ill  with  a  fever, 
beside  the  wounds.  He  had  come  near  to  losing  his 
leg,  and  was  still  a  little  lame,  and  very  weak  and  heart 
broken.  His  wife  had  been  torn  from  his  arms  when 
an  Indian  had  given  him  the  blow  on  his  head  with  a 
club,  and  there  memory  had  stopped.  Though  Mere 
Lnnde  would  talk  to  no  one  else,  to  him  she  told  the 
sad  story.  And  he  had  been  lying  helpless  all  the  time 
Wawataysee  had  been  in  such  danger!  Yes,  he  knew 
what  would  happen  to  her  now,  but  presently  he  would 
go  up  to  the  strait  and  never  rest  until  he  had  killed 
all  who  worked  her  ill.  Oh,  if  she  had  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  her  old  tribe ! 

That  thought  was  madness.  But  he  understood  what 
the  courage  of  her  despair  would  be.  She  would  not 
suffer  any  degradation,  death  would  be  a  boon  instead. 
Ah,  if  he  could  have  joined  Denys !  He  knew  the 
cruelty  and  treachery  of  those  whose  hands  she  had 
fallen  into.  And  the  child ! 

But  it  would  be  useless  to  start  disabled  as  he  was, 
although  his  anger  was  fierce  enough,  and  Denys  was 
well  on  the  journey.  Yet  it  was  terrible  to  wait  with 
awful  visions  before  his  eyes.  He  had  seen  both  men 
and  women  tortured,  and  the  agonies  prolonged  with 
fiendish  delight. 

Mere  Lunde  opened  the  house  and  cleared  up  the  dust 
and  disorder.  The  garden  was  overgrown  with  weeds 
and  everything  was  running  riot.  Marchand  insisted 
upon  lending  a  helping  hand  here.  Many  an  evening 
they  sat  in  the  doorway  wondering,  hoping  and  de 
spairing. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

PRISONERS. 

wild  cry  of  "The  Indians!  the  Indians!"  had 
roused  a  small  group  from  their  desultory  enjoyment. 
They  were  pouring  down  in  what  seemed  a  countless 
throng.  Marchand  had  no  weapon  except  his  knife. 

"Run,"  he  cried.  "Make  for  the  fort !  Keep  at  the 
edge  of  the  wood  while  we  can!" 

Wawataysee  seized  Renee's  hand.  The  Indian  girl 
was  as  fleet  as  a  deer.  She  could  have  saved  herself, 
but  she  would  not  leave  the  child.  They  had  now 
reached  the  open.  All  was  screams  and  confusion  and 
flying  fugitives. 

A  tall  Indian  was  behind  them  with  a  club.  Wawa 
taysee  gave  a  wild  shriek  and  the  next  instant  stumbled 
over  her  husband's  prostrate  body.  The  Indian  rushed 
on. 

"Oh !"  cried  Renee  in  wild  affright,  standing  still  in 
terror,  the  flying  crowd  like  swirling  leaves  before  her 
eyes. 

The  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  made  her  spring  back. 
Were  both  killed  now?  But  Wawataysee  moved, 
groaned. 

"They  have  shot  him  now,  my  beloved !"  She  raised 
the  bleeding  head  and  pressed  it  to  her  bosom.  "Oh, 
he  has  been  killed,  I  know.  Why  did  I  not  die  with 
him?  Oh,  Renee—" 

Escape  now  was  as  impossible  as  succor.  The  In 
dian  girl  moaned  over  her  husband,  and  made  a  futile 


PRISONERS  117 

attempt  to  drag  him  back  to  the  edge  of  the  wood  to 
hide  him.  But  suddenly  she  was  violently  wrenched 
away,  and  an  Indian  with  a  hand  hold  of  each  began 
to  run  with  them  toward  the  river.  At  last  Renee  fell 
and  he  had  to  pause.  Meanwhile  the  firing  from  the 
fort  had  begun  with  its  execution. 

Wawataysee  began  to  plead  with  her  captor,  who 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  her  entreaties.  Renee  was  crying 
in  a  desperate  fashion,  from  both  fright  and  fatigue. 
He  raised  his  club,  but  the  young  wife  clasped  the  child 
in  her  arms. 

"Kill  us  both,"  she  exclaimed,  "as  you  have  already 
killed  my  husband." 

"White  man?"  with  a  grunt.  "Squaw  woman.  Make 
some  Indian  glad."  Other  prisoners  were  being  brought 
in  this  direction,  and  among  them  Mere  Lunde,  who  had 
started  to  reach  the  fort  and  bear  the  tidings  to  Gas- 
pard. 

"Oh,  my  dear  child,"  she  cried.  "The  good  God 
help  us.  They  are  trying  to  take  the  town."  And  she 
almost  fell  at  their  feet. 

Then  they  were  marched  on,  the  Indian  guards  be 
hind  with  clubs  and  tomahawks,  now  and  then  goaded 
by  a  light  blow  that  would  not  disable.  The  cries 
grew  fainter,  though  they  still  heard  the  roar  of  the 
cannon. 

And  now  the  sun  was  slanting  westward  and  the 
trees  cast  long  shadows,  the  sound  of  the  river  fell  on 
their  ears  mingled  with  the  homeward  song  of  birds. 
The  heat  began  to  wane,  the  air  was  dewy  sweet. 

It  was  almost  dusk  when  they  reached  the  boats, 
and  they  were  bidden  to  get  in  and  were  conveyed  to  the 
opposite  shore.  Here  they  were  bound  together,  two 
and  two,  with  their  hands  fastened  behind  them.  One 


n8       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

Indian  was  detailed  to  watch  them  while  the  others 
took  the  boats  back. 

Ducharme's  arm  hung  helplessly  by  his  side,  and  the 
English  renegades  began  to  upbraid  him,  while  the 
Indians,  seeing  that  no  pillage  was  possible  and  no  gain 
could  be  made,  drew  away  sullenly  and  began  to  march 
toward  the  rendezvous,  leaving  some  of  their  own  badly 
wounded  behind.  It  was  midnight  before  they  rejoined 
the  others.  Then,  fearing  pursuit,  they  started  up  the 
river  again,  rousing  those  who  had  fallen  asleep.  All 
told  they  had  barely  thirty  prisoners,  and  had  left  as 
many  of  their  own  behind. 

Mere  Lunde  had  been  allowed  near  the  two  girls, 
and  now  they  huddled  together  in  the  boat.  Renee 
had  fallen  asleep  again. 

"You  do  not  know  where  they  will  take  us?"  Mere 
Lunde  inquired. 

Wawataysee  shook  her  head.  "They  will  go  up  the 
Illinois  River,"  she  whispered. 

"Do  you  think  they  will  not  follow?"  in  a  low,  des 
perate  tone.  "Master  Denys  and — " 

"Oh,  he  is  dead,"  with  a  heart-breaking  moan.  "I 
held  him  to  my  heart  and  he  made  no  stir,  I  kissed  his 
cold  lips  and  there  was  no  warmth.  But  for  the  sweet 
child  I  should  have  begged  them  to  kill  me  too,  so  that 
my  spirit  should  be  with  his.  If  she  could  be  restored 
safely,  my  own  life  I  would  hold  as  nothing." 

"They  have  started  ere  this.  Do  not  despair,"  and 
her  lips  were  close  to  the  Indian  girl's  ear. 

"Then  I  shall  thank  the  Great  Spirit  for  the  child's 
sake."  Heaven  grant  they  might  be  rescued. 

The  stir  and  lap  of  the  river  and  the  boats  had  a 
mysterious  sound  in  the  weird  darkness.  Then  the 
cry  of  some  wild  animal  or  a  bit  of  wind  sweeping 


PRISONERS  119 

through  the  trees  at  the  edge,  here  and  there.  The 
stars  shone  out  overhead.  Mere  Lunde  dropped  asleep 
also.  But  Wawataysee  sat  with  wide-open  eyes.  One 
moment  she  said  to  herself  that  he  could  not  be  dead, 
the  next  his  white  face  and  half -closed,  dulled  eyes 
were  against  her  breast.  She  felt  as  if  she  must  shriek 
and  tear  her  hair,  but  there  was  the  Indian's  self-control, 
and  the  thought  of  her  companions  who  might  be  made 
to  suffer  for  her.  But  she  could  not  go  out  of  life  for 
her  own  satisfaction  merely,  unless  it  came  to  the  mar 
tyrdom  worse  than  death,  for  the  child  was  a  sacred 
charge.  Gaspard  Denys  would  go  to  the  death,  even, 
for  both  of  them,  and  she  was  grateful  for  all  the  kind 
ness  and  countenance  he  had  given  her  at  St.  Louis. 

They  turned  up  a  small  stream,  tributary  to  the 
Illinois.  At  noon  they  drew  the  boats  up  to  what 
looked  like  an  impenetrable  brushwood,  and  disem 
barked,  pulling  in  the  boats  and  canoes.  There  was 
a  sort  of  trodden  path  through  the  wild  shrubbery,  and 
tangled  vines  overhung  it.  Two  of  the  Indians  went 
ahead,  the  prisoners  were  driven  next,  and  the  rest  of 
the  party  brought  up  the  rear. 

"Oh,  where  are  we  going?"  cried  Renee  in  affright, 
clutching  Wawataysee's  dress  with  both  hands. 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

They  were  stiff  from  their  cramped  position  in  the 
boats  and  faint  from  hunger.  Now  and  then  one  re 
ceived  a  blow  and  an  admonition  to  hurry  on.  At 
length  they  came  in  sight  of  a  clearing,  an  Indian 
settlement,  with  wigwams  and  a  space  planted  with  corn. 
Women  were  moving  about  over  their  fires,  children 
playing  or  stretched  out  in  the  sun.  Skins  were  tacked 
from  tree  to  tree  drying,  and  several  women  were  busy 
making  garments  and  leggings,  some  young  girls  cut- 


120        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

ting  fringes.  It  was  a  pretty,  restful  scene  to  the  tired 
travellers. 

An  old  man  rose,  it  almost  seemed  from  the  earth 
itself.  He  was  thin  and  gaunt,  hollow-cheeked  and 
wrinkled  to  the  last  degree.  From  his  attire  and  his 
head-dress  of  feathers  one  could  gather  that  he  was 
the  chief  of  the  small  settlement. 

"Why  all  this  warlike  array  and  these  prisoners?" 
he  asked  sharply.  "We  are  at  peace  with  our  white 
brothers.  We  have  gathered  in  the  remnant  of  our 
tribe,  we  have  few  young  braves  among  us,  we  are 
mostly  women  and  children.  We  have  nothing  to  be 
despoiled  of,  we  do  no  hunting  save  for  ourselves." 

"We  want  only  a  little  food  and  rest,  good  father 
Neepawa.  We  will  not  molest  you  and  yours.  We  are 
going  up  to  the  Great  Lakes.  We  have  been  led  astray 
by  a  white  chief  who  promised  us  much  plunder,  but 
the  town  was  too  strong  for  us.  He  has  gone  south 
to  one  of  the  English  forts  and  taken  some  of  his  follow 
ers,  leaving  the  prisoners  with  us.  Give  us  some  food 
and  we  will  go  on." 

Their  request  was  acceded  to,  but  with  no  special 
cordiality.  The  thing  they  would  most  have  liked  was 
whiskey,  but  that  was  not  to  be  supplied  at  this  simple 
Indian  village. 

"Oh,  if  we  could  stay  here!"  sighed  Renee.  "Do 
you  know  where  they  mean  to  take  us?"  and  her  eyes 
dilated  with  fear. 

"Only  that  we  are  going  farther  north." 

Wawataysee  was  fain  to  have  some  conversation  with 
the  Indian  women,  but  she  soon  saw  that  every  effort 
was  adroitly  frustrated.  Still,  they  were  fed  abun 
dantly  and  some  provisions  given  the  party.  They  re- 
embarked  late  in  the  afternoon  and  made  their  way 


PRISONERS  121 

down  to  the  Illinois  River  and  up  farther  on  their 
journey,  until  their  provisions  were  gone,  when  they 
were  obliged  to  land  again. 

After  foraging  about  awhile  they  met  a  party  of 
Indians  and  traders  quite  plentifully  supplied  with 
whiskey.  This  led  to  quarrels  and  disputes.  A  num 
ber  of  them  were  tired  of  having  the  prisoners  to  feed, 
and  had  changed  their  minds  about  going  north.  They 
were  roving  Indians  who  had  no  strong  ties  anywhere. 
Half  a  dozen  decided  to  cast  in  their  lot  with  the  traders. 

And  now  those  going  on  picked  out  the  most  likely 
of  the  prisoners.  Some  of  the  strong  young  men  who 
would  be  useful  in  the  capacity  of  slaves,  one  half-breed 
woman  who  had  astuteness  enough  to  make  herself  of 
account  in  preparing  food  and  did  not  resent  the  small 
indignities  offered. 

As  they  marched  down  to  the  river's  edge  these  were 
first  put  on  the  boat.  Then  Wawataysee  and  the  child. 
Mere  Lunde  started  to  follow,  but  was  rudely  thrust 
back. 

"I  must,  I  must !"  she  shrieked,  struggling  with  her 
captor;  "I  must  stay  with  the  child!" 

"Push  off!"  was  the  command.  Three  Indians 
stepped  in  and  the  boat  was  propelled  out  in  the  stream. 
Then  Wawataysee  saw  what  had  happened  and  half 
rose,  crying  wildly  that  they  should  take  on  the  poor 
creature  begging  in  her  desperation. 

"She  is  ours !     We  cannot  do  without  her !" 

The  Indian  pushed  her  down  on  her  seat  and  uttered 
a  rough  threat. 

"Oh,  what  will  they  do  with  her?"shrieked  Renee. 

A  blow  was  the  only  answer.  Renee  fell  into  her 
companion's  lap  sobbing  wildly.  Wawataysee  tried  to 
soothe  and  comfort  her.  But  she  felt  strangely  defence- 


122        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

less.  The  half-breed  she  mistrusted.  If  there  could 
be  some  escape !  She  studied  every  point.  They  were 
no  longer  bound,  but  out  here  on  the  river  one  could 
do  nothing. 

So  passed  another  night  and  day  and  a  second  night. 
No  place  of  refuge  had  been  found  in  their  brief  land 
ings.  But  they  reached  another  settlement,  not  as 
orderly  or  inviting  as  that  of  Chief  Neepawa.  Still, 
they  were  glad  of  a  rest.  And  now  their  captors  seemed 
undecided  again.  Two  or  three  were  already  tired  of 
the  journey  with  its  hardships. 

An  Indian  woman  found  a  place  in  her  wigwam  for 
the  two  girls.  They  were  bound  at  night  and  their 
keeper  had  strict  injunctions  about  them. 

The  Elk  Horn,  as  one  of  the  most  authoritative  In 
dians  was  called,  now  assumed  the  command.  He  had 
an  idea,  that  he  kept  quite  to  himself,  that  he  might 
dispose  of  his  prisoners  to  some  advantage,  to  make  up 
in  part  for  the  ill-advised  raid  on  St.  Louis.  There 
were  many  roving  Indians  about  whose  tribes  had  been 
decimated  by  wars  and  sickness,  and  who  attached 
themselves  to  the  English  or  American  cause,  whichever 
offered  the  most  profit,  and  who  liked  a  lawless,  wan 
dering  life  and  plunder. 

The  keeper  seemed  kindly  disposed  toward  the  two 
girls  and  treated  them  well,  though  she  watched  them 
sharply.  Wawataysee  had  been  careful  to  talk  in  a 
patois  of  broken  French  and  the  Sioux  that  she  had 
picked  up.  She  understood  nearly  all  that  her  captors 
said  and  thus  held  them  at  a  disadvantage,  but  she 
could  not  learn  what  Elk  Horn's  plans  were,  if  indeed 
he  had  any  certain  ones.  She  admitted  that  she  had 
left  a  husband  in  St.  Louis,  for  there  were  moments 
when  she  could  not  believe  him  dead,  and  that  this 


PRISONERS 


123 


was  the  end  of  their  tender  love!  And  she  was 
young,  she  had  just  tasted  of  the  sweetness  of  it 
all. 

There  were  hours  of  heart-break,  when  it  seemed  as 
if  she  could  not  endure  Renee's  prattle,  and  would  fain 
shake  off  the  soft  touch  on  her  arm,  the  kisses  on  her 
forehead,  for  the  awful,  desperate  want  of  the  other 
kisses,  the  other  clasp.  And  oh,  how  strong  the  longing 
was  at  times  to  throw  herself  headlong  into  the  river 
and  let  her  spirit  of  love  fly  to  that  other  land,  that  the 
good  God  provided  for  His  children. 

Then  she  would  think  of  Gaspard  Denys  and  his  love 
for  the  little  maid.  He  had  seen  enough  of  the  cruelty 
of  her  race  to  know  the  danger.  Ah,  why  had  the  great 
All-Father  allowed  any  human  beings  to  become  such 
fiends  ?  Up  in  her  northern  home  she  had  heard  things 
that  turned  the  blood  to  ice.  And  she  had  been  so  near 
the  white  settlements. 

Yes,  she  must  care  for  the  little  one,  keep  with  her, 
befriend  her,  try  to  restore  her  to  her  dear  protector. 

It  was  best  to  claim  that  Renee  was  her  little  sister  by 
adoption.  If  they  could  only  get  back!  Why  should 
they  go  up  north  ?  What  was  that  more  than  any  other 
place ! 

The  woman  at  this  would  shake  her  head  doubtfully. 
Yet  Wawataysee  could  see  that  she  softened,  and  once 
she  asked  how  far  it  was  to  St.  Louis,  and  how  one 
could  get  there. 

Wawataysee's  heart  beat  high  with  hope.  Yet  how 
could  two  girls  reach  there  alone?  They  might  meet 
other  Indian  bands  who  would  capture  them.  There 
were  wild  animals.  And  they  might  not  get  a  canoe. 
They  had  no  money.  Still,  she  would  escape  if  they 
could  and  pray  to  the  good  God  to  keep  them  safe. 


124        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

Often  and  often  she  and  Renee  comforted  themselves 
with  the  sweet,  brief  prayers  they  had  learned.  And 
oh,  where  was  poor  Mere  Lunde ! 

Several  days  of  rest  were  vouchsafed  to  them.  Then 
one  day  a  company  of  hunters  joined  them,  among 
which  there  were  a  few  white  prisoners  as  well.  One, 
a  young  fellow,  strolled  about  with  evident  curiosity, 
and  came  upon  the  girls  in  a  leafy  covert  near  the  wig 
wam.  They  were  given  a  little  liberty  by  their  keeper 
on  promising  by  the  Great  Manitou  they  would  not 
attempt  to  escape. 

"It  would  be  of  no  use,"  said  the  woman.  "An 
alarm  would  be  given,  and  you  do  not  know  your  way 
anywhere.  Then  you  might  be  beaten  when  you  were 
captured,  and  confined  with  thongs.  Have  patience. 
Sometimes  all  the  braves  go  off  to  hunt." 

The  young  man  listened  to  the  French  with  delight. 
Two  of  the  other  captives  were  English  and  they  had 
conversed  mostly  with  signs  and  Indian  words  they 
had  picked  up. 

Renee  heard  a  stir  in  the  leaves  and  started  with  a 
little  cry.  The  hand  was  raised  for  silence. 

"Pardon  me.  I  will  do  you  no  harm,"  he  said,  with 
an  appeal  in  his  voice.  "It  was  the  language  that 
sounded  so  sweet  to  me.  I  am  French.  I  come  from 
Detroit.  But  we  fell  in  with  a  band  of  Indians  and 
only  three  of  us  escaped  unhurt.  We  were  made 
prisoners." 

"And  we  are  prisoners,  too,"  returned  Wawataysee, 
with  a  sigh.  We  come  from  St.  Louis." 

"St.  Louis !  How  strange !  I  had  meant  to  go  there. 
I  have  an  uncle,  Pierre  Valbonais." 

"Oh,  I  know!"  cried  Renee  with  delight,  as  if  she 
had  found  a  friend.  "He  comes  in  my  uncle's  shop; 


PRISONERS  125 

and  Uncle  Gaspard  likes  him.  They  sit  and  smoke  to 
gether." 

"And  I  am  Andre  Valbonais.  We  are  companions  in 
adversity,  both  prisoners.  Whither  are  you  going?" 

Wawataysee  shook  her  head.  "We  do  not  know, 
m'sieu." 

He  laughed  softly.  "How  natural  that  sounds!  I 
am  glad  to  hear  a  familiar  voice.  Neither  do  I  know 
my  destination.  It  is  one  thing  to-day,  another  to-mor 
row.  I  do  not  think  they  know  themselves.  Black 
Feather  is  chief  of  the  gang.  Now  and  then  they  quar 
rel.  He  killed  two  Indians  not  more  than  a  week  ago 
who  wanted  to  have  their  own  way,  but  he  has  not  been 
cruel  to  us.  Still,  I  dream  of  escape  continually." 

"Ah,  if  we  could  compass  it  together!"  and  Wawa- 
taysee's  beautiful  eyes  went  to  his  very  heart. 

The  woman  came  out  with  her  beadwork  in  her 
hand. 

"You  are  not  of  our  people,"  she  said.  "You  have 
no  right  here.  Go  your  way." 

"Perhaps  not.  I  am  a  sort  of  compulsory  guest, 
but  I  will  say  adieu,"  and  bowing,  he  disappeared  in 
the  shrubbery;  but  his  last  glance  said  he  would  find 
them  again. 

"Who  was  it?"  The  woman  looked  from  one  to  the 
other. 

"He  is  French,  and  a  prisoner.  The  chief  is  Black 
Feather.  But  the  young  man  comes  from  Detroit." 

She  gave  a  nod,  as  if  she  knew  this  much  already. 

Elk  Horn  and  Black  Feather  had  cemented  a  friend 
ship  over  their  whiskey.  They  would  start  the  next 
morning.  The  word  was  given  to  be  early  astir,  and 
the  woman  roused  them. 

"Every  step  takes  us  farther  away,"  said  Wawatay- 


126       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

see  regretfully.  Yet  they  would  be  in  the  company  of 
Valbonais,  who  had  resolved  upon  escape. 

She  walked  slowly  down  to  the  river's  edge,  holding 
Renee  by  the  hand.  Black  Feather  caught  sight  of 
her.  Her  tall,  lithe  figure,  her  airy  step,  the  poise  of 
the  head,  had  a  touch  of  familiarity.  Ah,  yes!  and 
the  name.  The  pretty  Firefly  had  been  taken  away 
from  the  strait  by  a  white  trader,  and  her  brother  had 
been  unsuccessful  in  his  attempt  to  capture  her.  Ah,  if 
this  was  she,  then  he  was  truly  in  luck ! 

He  did  not  attempt  to  come  nearer,  but  saw  her  and 
the  child  step  into  the  boat.  Elk  Horn  took  command 
of  this.  Black  Feather  gathered  his  small  force  to 
gether,  and  his  boatload  of  treasures  of  different  kinds 
with  which  he  could  purchase  supplies,  and  the  other 
looked  on  with  envy. 

All  day  Black  Feather  watched  warily,  more  and 
more  certain  that  this  girl  would  prove  a  treasure  to 
him  if  he  managed  rightly.  He  would  buy  her  of  Elk 
Horn. 

"What  do  you  know  about  her?"  he  inquired. 
"She  comes  from  St.  Louis.  Who  was  her  father  ?  for 
she  has  Indian  blood,  and  I  am  sure  I  know  her  tribe." 

Elk  Horn  looked  amazed.  "I  believe  she  married  a 
trader  and  came  with  him.  I  will  ask  her." 

"No.     Cannot  some  of  the  men  tell  you?" 

"Oh,  I  think  so.  Have  you  been  smitten  with  her 
charms  ?" 

The  Indian  nodded,  but  his  face  showed  no  emotion. 

They  made  a  rude  camp  for  the  night  and  proceeded 
to  cook  some  supper. 

"I  have  found  out,"  announced  Elk  Horn.  "A 
Frenchman,  Marchand,  married  her.  He  was  killed,  I 
believe,  in  the  assault  on  the  town." 


PRISONERS  127 

"Yes,  I  like  her.  I  will  buy  her  of  you.  Let  us 
make  a  bargain." 

"And  the  little  one  ?"  inquiringly. 

"Oh,  I  do  not  want  her.  Yet  she  has  some  beauty, 
according  to  pale-face  ideas.  But  no,  I  will  take  only 
the  Indian  girl." 

They  ate  their  supper  of  broiled  fish,  and  then  smoked 
in  the  gathering  darkness.  Elk  Horn  deliberated.  He 
had  not  exactly  thought  of  selling  her,  though  it  was 
often  done  with  female  captives.  He  had  two  wives 
now,  and  did  not  want  to  be  burdened  with  a  third  who 
was  a  helpless  young  girl.  Wives  were  for  profit,  in 
his  estimation. 

Black  Feather  was  as  wary.  He  was  not  sure  he 
wanted  to  marry  her.  She  might  prove  turbulent  and 
headstrong.  Halfbreeds  were  not  as  tractable  as 
Indian  women.  And  they  were  not  as  strong.  They 
might  die  on  your  hands,  and  what,  then,  would  one 
have  for  the  bargain  ?" 

"You  will  take  the  child.  I  will  not  part  them.  You 
can  spare  a  trifle  more.  She  will  soon  grow  up." 

Black  Feather  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  was  si 
lent. 

"Then  there  is  no  bargain,"  declared  Elk  Horn.  "I 
will  offer  my  wares  to  some  other  chief.  I  think  of 
one  farther  up  in  the  Illinois  country.  But  our  ways 
may  be  together  a  few  days  longer.  It  need  not  make 
ill  friends." 

Black  Feather  brought  out  some  whiskey.  He  knew 
how  to  tempt  his  brother.  To  have  a  supply  of  this 
for  days  would  be  more  satisfying  than  any  future 
gain.  For  the  present  was  the  great  thing  to  the 
Indian's  improvident  nature.  And  so  Black  Feather 
made  his  bargain,  including  the  child  that  he  really  did 


128       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

not  care  for.  Yet  perhaps  it  would  be  better  not  to 
separate  them  at  present. 

Elk  Horn  had  not  slept  off  all  his  potion.  His  com 
peer  was  awake  early,  and  had  laid  aside  the  promised 
treasures  for  his  inspection.  Then  he  called  his  men 
and  stealthily  manned  his  own  boats.  He  judged 
rightly  that  Elk  Horn  would  not  leave  the  place  until 
the  last  drop  of  firewater  had  been  drained,  and  then 
it  would  take  him  a  few  days  to  get  over  his  debauch. 

"Come,"  he  exclaimed  roughly,  at  length.  "Here 
is  your  portion — beads,  wampum,  skins  and  whis 
key." 

Elk  Horn  nodded  and  rubbed  his  bleared  eyes.  He 
looked  at  the  goods  and  they  seemed  magnified  to  his 
sight,  so  adroitly  were  they  spread  about. 

"Ugh !  It  is  early,"  with  a  yawn. 

"I  must  be  on  my  way.  You  can  overtake  me  at 
night.  We  will  share  the  same  fire,  and  I  will  have 
everything  prepared  for  my  brother.  But  I  wish  you 
to  rouse  the  two  captives  and  have  them  ready  also. 
You  will  lead  them  to  the  boat,  so  there  need  be  no  dis 
turbance." 

Elk  Horn  considered.  Wawataysee  might  object  to 
her  new  master.  He  felt  his  part  had  been  rather  un 
derhand,  but  was  she  not  his  property  ? 

They  were  a  little  surprised  at  the  summons,  and  to 
be  hurried  off  without  breakfast.  The  canoes  were 
already  out  in  the  river.  The  larger  boat  had  a  few 
men  in  it.  Elk  Horn  put  in  Renee  first. 

"Where  are  we  going?"  the  Indian  girl  asked,  turn 
ing  toward  him. 

"Up  the  river,"  roughly,  in  a  thick,  guttural  voice. 
"Come,  get  in." 

She  stepped  aboard,  not  especially  remarking  the 


PRISONERS 


129 


men.  Then  suddenly  her  eye  fell  upon  Valbonais,  who 
greeted  her  with  a  joyous  expression.  Had  he  been 
handed  over  to  Elk  Horn?  She  experienced  a  certain 
contentment,  and  suspicion  was  allayed. 

But  as  they  emerged  from  the  shadow  of  the  over 
hanging  trees  she  saw  that  all  the  faces  were  strange. 
She  had  not  noted  the  newcomers  in  the  camp,  having 
been  kept  in  seclusion,  and  it  also  being  her  choice.  Now 
a  chill  of  terror  ran  over  her.  Noting  the  aspect  of  two 
of  the  rowers  more  closely,  she  saw  to  her  dismay  that 
they  were  Hurons.  One  man  had  his  head  turned  from 
her  and  bowed  down. 

"Why  do  we  go  so  early  ?"  asked  Renee.  "And  we 
have  had  no  breakfast." 

"I  do  not  know,"  tremblingly. 

"And  why  did  Elk  Horn  stay  on  shore?" 

"Did  he?"  with  a  curious  lift  of  the  brows. 

"Oh,  yes;  I  saw  him.  And  these  men — oh,  where 
are  Pierre  and  Jules?  But  there  is  the  young  man 
who  came  and  talked  to  us.  Oh,  Wawataysee,  shall 
we  never  stay  anywhere  again  ?  How  can  we  get  back 
to  St.  Louis?" 

"Hush,  dear;  hush!" 

"But  I  am  getting  hungry.  And  I  am  so  tired  of 
sailing." 

She  leaned  her  head  down  on  Wawatay see's  lap. 
Every  moment  the  Indian  girl  grew  more  terrified. 
True,  Elk  Horn  and  his  men  might  come  on.  But 
these  Hurons! 

The  boat  glided  along.  The  sun  rose  higher  and 
made  of  the  river  a  band  of  gold  and  gems,  where  each 
little  wavelet  dazzled  in  strange  colors.  They  passed 
great  plains  where  grass  grew  rank  and  waved  in  the 
wind  like  another  sea  of  green.  Then  a  belt  of  pines 


130        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

or  walnut,  the  first  standing  stiff  and  strong,  the  others 
mound-like. 

The  bowed  figure  had  straightened  itself  and  spoken 
to  the  men,  but  not  turned  his  face.  Now  he  gave  an 
order  and  the  boat  swerved  in  toward  the  shore,  grating 
a  little  on  the  pebbly  beach.  The  other  one  in  advance 
turned  also.  Some  food  was  distributed.  He  spoke 
in  the  Huron  language,  and  said  they  must  make  Bear 
Creek  by  night. 

It  was  dreadful  to  go  out  in  the  broiling  sun  again, 
but  presently  a  cooling  breeze  blew  up.  They  passed  a 
chain  of  boats  well  laden,  going  down,  the  French 
sailors  singing  a  merry  lilt,  and  they  gave  each  other 
greeting.  The  shadows  began  to  grow  longer  and  a 
reviving  fragrance  was  wafted  over  from  the  shore 
edge.  There  were  fields  abloom  with  gay  flowers,  then 
shrubby  clumps,  and  when  the  sun  went  down  they  had 
neared  a  little  cove  where  one  could  see  two  rather  di 
lapidated  wigwams.  Here  they  were  to  stop  for  the 
night. 

The  men  began  to  make  a  fire,  while  provisions  were 
brought  out  of  the  boat.  The  two  girls  had  been  left 
alone,  but  now  the  chief — Wawataysee  knew  he  was 
that  by  his  dress  and  a  long  black  feather  stuck  through 
the  topknot  of  hair — turned  to  her.  Oh,  then  she  was 
quite  sure  she  had  seen  him  before  and  her  heart  stood 
still.  Yes,  it  was  in  that  life  she  had  fled  from. 

He  addressed  her  in  the  Huron  tongue ;  she  answered 
irrelevantly  in  French.  A  frown  crossed  his  brow,  but 
he  handed  them  both  out  of  the  boat  with  a  firm  grasp 
on  the  arm  of  each,  and  led  them  to  the  smaller  tent 
of  the  two.  Some  fir  and  hemlock  branches  had  been 
thrown  on  the  ground  and  covered  with  a  blanket. 

"You  and  the  child  will  be  safe  here.     You  will  be 


PRISONERS  131 

well  guarded,"  with  a  cruel  little  smile.  "Some  supper 
will  be  sent  you.  Compose  yourself." 

She  gave  no  sign  of  recognition. 

"You  cannot  deceive  me,  Firefly  of  the  Hurons,  even 
if  some  French  blood  does  course  in  your  veins  and 
you  are  tricked  out  in  this  attire.  Your  brother's  anger 
was  kindled  against  you  when  you  made  him  break  his 
word,  when  you  ran  off  with  a  vile  Frenchman.  If  you 
could  have  been  found  justice  would  have  been  swift 
and  sure.  And  now  you  will  go  back.  You  will  not  be 
a  wife  this  time,  but  a  slave  to  your  master  and  his  other 
wives." 

"I  am  a  wife  already,"  she  answered  proudly  in  his 
language,  since  it  was  no  use  to  feign.  "I  have  been 
wedded  a  year  by  a  priest,  and  the  Great  Manitou  will 
call  down  vengeance  upon  those  who  dare  interfere 
with  his  ordinances.  And  what  right  have  you  to 
bring  me  here  ?" 

"I  bought  you,  Mistress  Insolence.  And  I  shall  dou 
ble  my  price  when  the  Chief  Pamussac  hears  that  you 
will  be  at  his  service." 

There  was  a  little  dagger  lying  in  a  treasure  box  at 
home.  Her  husband  had  given  it  to  her.  If  she  had 
it  here  she  would  stab  him  to  the  heart. 

"Well,  what  is  your  reply?"  he  asked  in  a  tone  of 
triumph.  "Your  white  lord  is  dead.  He  cannot  come 
at  your  call." 

"My  reply  is  that  we  are  both  hungry  and  want  some 
supper,"  she  returned  in  an  impatient  tone.  "And  then 
some  more  blankets,"  glancing  disdainfully  at  the  pile 
of  boughs.  "You  will  hardly  double  your  money  if  you 
starve  or  maltreat  me.  I  may  die  on  your  hands." 

Black  Feather  was  more  than  amazed  at  the  effron 
tery  of  the  girl.  He  stared  at  her,  and  his  fingers 


132        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

worked  as  if  he  would  like  to  clutch  her  by  the  throat. 
Yes,  what  she  said  was  true  enough. 

Wawataysee  knew  well  that  an  Indian  despised  any 
sign  of  weakness  or  cowardice,  and  that  to  secure  good 
treatment  she  must  put  on  the  boldness  of  the  soldier 
who  does  not  fear  even  death,  and  from  whom  his  per 
secutors  can  extort  no  groan. 

"I  will  send  you  some  supper.  And  guards  shall  be 
set  to  keep  you  from  harm,"  in  a  mocking  tone. 

"Take  my  thanks  for  that,"  she  flung  out  sharply. 
"I  am  mortally  afraid  of  the  wild  beasts  of  the  forests. 
And  I  would  like  some  sleep  after  this  hot,  fatiguing 
day  and  the  early  start  of  the  morning." 

"Oh,  what  did  he  say?"  and  Renee  clung  to  her  with 
desperation.  "He  was  so  fierce  I  thought  he  would 
kill  us.  And  why  are  we  here  ?  Where  is  Elk  Horn  ?" 

"My  little  darling,  it  seems  that  we  have  been  sold 
and  are  to  be  taken  up  north,  unless  the  Great  Mani- 
tou  or  the  pitying  Virgin  listens  to  our  prayers  and 
sends  us  rescue.  It  is  a  long  way  and  something  may 
happen." 

Renee  began  to  cry. 

"Sweet,  take  courage.  I  do  not  know  why,  but  I 
have  a  curious  faith  that  overrides  my  fears,  that  some 
thing  will  intervene.  Elk  Horn  has  dealt  treacher 
ously,  after  the  fashion  of  his  tribe.  Oh,  my  darling ! 
I  know  you  will  see  Uncle  Gaspard  again,  so  dry  your 
tears." 

"I  am  so  tired  of  the  journeying  and  those  fierce  men. 
Do  you  remember  the  old  Chief  Neepawa  and  the 
women  of  the  village?  They  seemed  like  ours  at 
home." 

"Ah,  I  wish  we  were  there !" 

The  supper  came  in,  and,  in  spite  of  their  fears,  they 


PRISONERS  133 

were  hungry.  The  wind  rose  and  the  air  was  de 
lightfully  cool.  Wawataysee  spread  the  bed  and  the 
child  was  soon  peacefully  asleep.  The  tent  pole  was 
a  tree  that  had  been  trimmed  for  that  purpose,  and  the 
young  girl  leaned  against  it,  watching  the  flicker  of  the 
fire  without  and  the  pine  torches  that  had  been  lighted. 
Courageous  as  she  had  appeared,  every  pulse  shrank 
and  throbbed.  But  there  was  death.  She  would  be  no 
man's  slave.  Only  Renee  must  not  be  left  behind. 
She  knew  of  poisonous  plants  for  which  there  was  no 
remedy.  Oh,  would  she  have  the  courage  to  take  an 
other's  life? 

She  dozed  at  length,  even  in  her  uncomfortable  posi 
tion.  Then  something  roused  her,  a  rending  crash  and 
a  glare  that  seemed  to  be  the  world  on  fire.  She  sprang 
up,  and  the  next  crash  she  knew  was  the  storm  that 
had  broken  over  them  with  the  wildest  fury.  Were 
there  cries  of  beast  and  men  mingled  with  it?  The 
deluge  seemed  to  sweep  the  ground,  the  trees  writhed 
and  groaned  and  crashed  in  the  fury  of  the  gale.  In 
the  intervals  she  could  hear  voices  without.  Presently 
the  flashes  of  bewildering  light  ceased,  though  the  mut- 
terings  of  thunder  could  still  be  heard,  and  the  trees 
were  wind-swept  by  the  fierceness  of  the  mighty  power. 
One  and  another  came  down,  but  her  tent  stood  the 
storm  and  was  sheltered  by  an  angle  of  three  trees. 

The  gray  light  of  morning  began  to  dawn  sullenly. 
She  watched  the  faint  streaks  stealing  through  the 
loopholes.  Renee  still  slept.  She  went  to  the  flap 
of  the  wigwam  and  raised  it.  The  rain  was  pouring  in 
torrents.  There  at  her  feet  lay  a  body,  the  leggings 
and  deer-skin  breeches  ploughed  by  a  curious  zigzag 
streak,  scorched  and  torn,  and  the  blanket  shrivelled  to 
fragments.  Some  figures  were  moving  about  like 


134       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

wraiths  in  the  dusky  light.  It  was  a  weird  picture. 
She  was  not  at  all  afraid.  She  was  used  to  forest 
storms. 

One  of  the  figures  came  nearer.  "Ma'm'selle!"  it 
said  in  a  whisper. 

The  familiar  word  was  the  sweetest  music.  She 
stretched  out  her  hand. 

"I  never  saw  anything  so  terrible.  And  you — lived  ? 
Others  have  gone.  Three  are  dead.  One  is  drowned, 
and  Black  Feather — "  Valbonais's  voice  trembled. 

"Well !"  with  a  long  breath.  Did  she  hope  for  his 
death? 

"He  ordered  the  men  to  look  after  the  boats.  They 
had  been  drawn  up,  but  the  ground  was  sloping,  the 
rain  a  torrent,  the  blackness  something  fearful  save 
when  the  blinding  blaze  of  light  came.  He  was  there 
ordering,  cursing,  threatening.  Then  a  tree  crashed 
down  and  pinned  him  to  the  earth.  He  is  badly  hurt 
about  the  legs,  but  has  voice  enough  left  in  him  for 
four." 

Wawataysee  shuddered. 

"Ma'm'selle!"  in  a  breathless  manner. 

"Yes?"  with  eager  inquiry. 

"I  am  going  to  escape.  There  never  can  be  a  more 
favorable  moment." 

"Oh !  oh !  oh !"  she  cried  in  a  piercing  tone. 

"I  shall  find  my  way  to  St.  Louis.  Ma'm'selle, 
if  you  and  the  child  dared  and  would  trust  me.  For  if 
I  have  heard  aright,  you  are  to  be  taken  to  some  chief  up 
in  the  straits.  And  if  you  shrank  from  going " 

"I  shall  never  reach  there  alive.  I  know  a  swift,  un 
failing  poison — "  And  her  words  came  out  sharply. 

He  gave  her  a  half-horrified,  half-entreating  look. 

"It  will  be  a  hard  journey.     But  if  we  should  start 


PRISONERS 


'35 


now  there  is  not  much  chance  of  our  being  overtaken. 
Everything  is  in  such  confusion,  and  it  may  be  weeks 
before  Black  Feather  is  able  to  move  about.  We  would 
follow  the  river  as  well  as  we  could,  keeping  out  of 
sight  if  the  other  boats  come  up,  as  they  are  likely  to 
do.  For  the  rest  we  must  trust  to  the  good  God.  I 
shall  take  a  gun.  I  have  dreamed  this  over  many 
times.  And  if  you  will  go " 

"You  mean  to  start  now — in  the  storm?" 

"It  will  clear  up  presently,  by  noon.  Meanwhile,  I 
could  plan  all  the  arrangements.  Just  now  you  are 
not  a  close  prisoner.  There  is  no  telling  what  may 
happen  to-morrow." 

"That  is  true."  Wawataysee  studied  the  eager 
young  face.  The  eyes  had  an  honest,  pleading  look. 
"I  will  trust  you,"  she  said.  "Tell  me  what  to  do 
when  you  are  ready." 

The  party  were  too  terror-stricken  to  think  much  of 
their  captives.  There  were  the  three  dead  men  lying 
out  in  the  rain.  They  brought  Black  Feather  up  to 
the  miserable  wigwam  and  bound  up  his  bruised  limbs, 
finding  that  one  leg  only  was  broken.  Black  Feather 
had  tabooed  the  company  of  women  on  these  journeys, 
and  had  a  half-breed  that  he  had  trained  for  a  cook. 
Just  now  an  old  Indian  nurse  would  have  been  very 
serviceable.  Once  he  roused  himself  from  his  pain  and 
suffering,  cursing  with  true  Indian  passion. 

"Look  if  the  girl  and  the  child  are  safe,"  he  com 
manded  in  threatening  tones. 

They  had  fared  very  well  in  the  storm.  Both  they 
and  the  shelter  had  taken  no  harm. 

Valbonais  had  gathered  a  sack  of  provisions  and 
taken  it  down  below  the  camp  some  distance,  leaving 
it  there  with  the  gun.  He  had  been  very  helpful  all 


136        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

the   morning,    and   his   brief   absence   had   not   been 
noted. 

At  noon  the  rain  ceased,  though  it  was  nearly  an 
hour  before  the  sun  came  out.  Dinner  was  eaten,  the 
boats  were  dragged  up  so  as  to  be  within  sight,  and 
two  or  three  of  the  Indians  were  kept  busy  about  their 
master.  Two  of  the  prisoners  had  been  killed  and  one 
Indian.  Black  Feather  ordered  them  buried. 
Valbonais  came  to  the  door  of  the  tent. 
"Give  me  one  of  the  blankets,"  he  said,  "and  send 
the  child  out  to  the  back  of  the  tent  when  you  can  do 
so  unperceived.  Then  wrap  yourself  in  the  other  and 
steal  away.  We  will  take  the  other  side  of  the  strip 
of  woods.  It  is  not  wide." 

Renee  ran  out  presently  and  seized  his  hand. 
"Oh,  are  we  going  back  to  St.  Louis  ?"  she  asked  in 
a  whisper,  while  her  eyes  were  alight  with  joy. 

"I  hope  so,  little  one.  Come  this  way.  Now  you 
will  not  be  afraid  to  stay  here.  Do  not  utter  a  cry  or 
sound.  Wrap  the  blanket  about  you — so." 

Then  Valbonais  waited  and  waited.  He  made  one 
journey  to  Renee  to  comfort  her.  Then  he  saw  Wawa- 
taysee  struggling  through  an  aperture  she  had  made 
in  the  tent,  and  ran  to  her  assistance. 

"There  were  so  many  of  them  about,"  she  said 
breathlessly.  "I  pinned  the  tent  flap  down  with  a 
stout  stick,  so  they  may  think  I  am  asleep.  Oh,  let 
us  hurry.  I  am  so  afraid,"  and  she  trembled  in  her 
excitement,  though  she  ran  lightly  along. 

When  they  reached  Renee  he  picked  up  the  sack  of 
food  and  slung  it  over  his  shoulder,  took  the  gun  and 
one  blanket,  while  Wawataysee  wrapped  the  other 
about  herself,  the  gray  making  her  more  indistinct. 
Renee,  wild  with  joy,  danced  and  skipped,  and  could 


PRISONERS  137 

not  repress  soft  gurgles  of  laughter  as  she  kept  on 
ahead  of  them. 

Valbonais  found  Wawataysee  fleet  of  foot  and  grace 
ful  as  a  forest  nymph.  The  blanket  did  not  seem  to 
impede  her  skimming  motion.  The  sense  of  danger 
and  the  thought  of  freedom  inspired  her,  and  hope 
swelled  anew  in  her  breast.  Surely  the  good  God  would 
have  Frangois  in  His  keeping  and  let  them  meet  again. 


CHAPTER  X. 

IN  THE   WILDERNESS. 

THE  way  was  tolerably  clear  for  a  long  distance, 
though  shielded  from  the  view  of  the  Indians  by  the 
intervening  trees.  When  the  strip  of  woods  failed  them 
for  shelter  it  was  growing  dusk,  and,  with  the  rise  of 
the  wind,  they  could  hardly  have  been  distinguished 
from  the  waving  shrubbery.  Valbonais  paused  and 
glanced  back  now  and  then,  but  no  pursuers  were  in 
sight. 

"Take  it  a  little  more  moderately,"  Valbonais  said. 
"We  must  not  lose  sight  of  the  river,  or  we  may  go 
astray.  Though  we  have  made  a  gain  by  cutting  off  this 
point  that  juts  into  the  stream.  Ah,  if  we  only  had  any 
kind  of  a  boat!" 

"They  might  see  us  on  the  river." 

"Hardly  at  night,  and  not  very  clear  at  that.  We 
must  make  for  that  dark  line  ahead  of  us,  a  bit  of 
woods  where  we  can  camp  for  the  night." 

It  was  quite  dark  when  they  reached  it,  and  with 
some  difficulty  he  made  a  light.  It  was  largely  scrubby 
pines  and  the  soil  was  sandy,  dry  in  spite  of  the  tre 
mendous  rain,  though  evidently  there  had  not  been  as 
much  here.  Valbonais  found  a  dead,  dry  branch  of 
pine,  which  he  lighted,  and  began  to  explore.  A  short 
distance  in  was  a  pile  of  stones  heaped  up  four  or  five 
feet,  evidently  some  burial  spot.  He  glanced  at  its 
capabilities,  then  began  tumbling  out  the  smaller  ones 
that  seemed  to  be  largely  at  one  side. 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS 


139 


"What  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  asked  Wawataysee. 

"Make  a  sort  of  cave.  Oh,  you  will  see,"  laugh 
ingly. 

"But  let  me  help,"  she  cried  eagerly. 

"No,  no!  Or,  if  you  wish,  will  you  take  my  knife 
and  cut  some  pine  boughs,  the  bushiest  ones?" 

He  had  stuck  his  dry  branch  in  the  sand  and  piled 
a  few  others  around  it.  Renee  stood  by  the  fire,  much 
interested. 

Valbonais  tore  out  the  stones  until  he  had  a  hollow 
place  like  a  great  chair.  This  he  partly  filled  with  the 
ends  of  the  boughs  Wawataysee  had  gathered. 

"This  will  make  a  bed  for  you  and  the  child.  You 
will  have  to  sleep  sitting  up ;  but  you  ought  to  be  able 
to  sleep  anywhere." 

"Oh,  look!  look!"  cried  Renee,  clapping  her  hands. 
"A  golden  baby  moon  down  there  in  the  sky !  Is  it  not 
beautiful?" 

The  sky  was  of  deepest  azure,  the  stars  mostly  to  the 
northwest.  One  was  almost  at  the  point  of  the  cres 
cent,  as  if  lighting  each  other  on  the  way. 

"To-morrow  or  the  next  night  it  will  be  in  her 
arms,"  said  the  young  fellow. 

"A  baby  star  in  a  cradle,"  exclaimed  Renee.  "Oh,  is 
it  not  wonderful?  What  is  that?"  and  she  suddenly 
shrank  toward  her  companions. 

"Only  the  cry  of  some  night  bird.  These  clumps  of 
woods  are  not  thick  enough  to  harbor  wild  animals, 
thank  the  saints !  Now,  ma'm'selle,  you  sit  here  and 
try  it." 

He  had  spread  a  blanket  over  the  pine  boughs.  She 
sank  gracefully  into  the  seat  and  leaned  back  her  head 
with  a  certain  air  of  luxuriance. 

"Oh,  it  is  splendid!"  in  a  grateful  tone. 


HO       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

Renee  ran  to  try. 

Valbonais  stirred  out  the  coals,  took  a  piece  of  dried 
fish  from  his  bag  and  some  corn  cakes  and  toasted 
both.  They  were  hungry  enough  to  eat  without  any 
demur — in  truth,  enjoyed  it  in  the  perfect  freedom 
from  fear. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "you  must  settle  yourself  for  the 
night.  I  do  not  think  we  shall  be  molested.  The  small 
band  will  be  busy  with  their  chief  and  repairing  dam 
ages.  Then  I  found  some  of  them  were  very  super 
stitious  about  a  woman  being  in  the  party." 

"But  I  was  held  only  for  the  money  I  would  bring 
Black  Feather.  Otherwise  I  would  have  been  looked 
upon  as  a  useless  burden.  They  dropped  off  poor 
Mere  Lunde  on  the  way,  and  yet  she  could  have  done 
them  good  service.  Come,  Renee." 

"I  am  not  a  bit  sleepy,"  returned  Renee.  "It  seems 
almost  like  being  at  home  with  no  fierce  Indians  about ; 
only  if  Uncle  Gaspard  were  here,  and  M'sieu  Mar- 
chand,"  she  was  about  to  add,  but  checked  herself. 

"We  must  be  up  betimes  to-morrow  and  on  our 
way,"  Valbonais  said.  "It  will  not  do  to  loiter." 

"What  will  you  do  meanwhile?"  inquired  Wawa- 
taysee. 

"Sit  here  and  tend  the  fire,"  he  said.  "I  shall  only 
keep  enough  to  see  about  in  case  I  have  to  defend  my 
self  from  any  midnight  prowler." 

He  folded  the  blankets  around  the  two,  who  certainly 
looked  comfortable  in  their  rocky  bed.  He  pushed  his 
way  through  the  thicket  and  ran  down  a  short  distance, 
where  he  had  command  of  the  river.  Nothing  was  go 
ing  either  way.  How  sweet  and  tranquil  it  all  was, 
after  the  terrors  of  last  night !  He  could  have  stayed 
there  hours  watching  the  stars  come  out  brighter  and 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS  141 

brighter,  and  the  soft  wind  weaving  strange  melodies, 
whispering  of  hope. 

Both  girls  were  asleep  when  he  returned.  He  sat 
down  outside  the  enclosure  and  leaned  his  shoulders 
against  it.  His  gun  was  by  his  side,  his  knife  in  his 
belt.  He  should  have  had  a  hatchet,  too;  that  useful 
article  no  one  scarcely  travelled  without,  but  in  the  ex 
citement  he  had  not  thought  of  everything.  Once  he 
replenished  the  fire ;  then  the  fuel  gave  out  and  he  fell 
asleep. 

Nothing  molested  them.  The  singing  of  some  birds 
in  the  thicket  roused  him.  He  hurried  to  the  river ;  all 
was  tranquil,  silent,  with  no  enemy  in  sight.  Then  he 
glanced  down  the  long  and  arid  space,  where  even  grass 
grew  sparsely  in  the  sandy  soil  that  held  no  moisture. 
They  must  start  early  so  as  to  escape  the  mid-day  heat. 

Wawataysee  had  risen  and  smoothed  her  ruffled 
plumes. 

"It  is  so  beautiful!"  she  said,  with  heartfelt  pleas 
ure.  "And,  oh,  to  be  free  from  horrid  fears !  I  slept 
so  tranquilly.  Did  you  have  any  rest?" 

"I  forgot  everything,"  and  he  laughed  with  a  glad 
sound.  "I  was  not  a  very  good  watcher,  perhaps,  but 
I  think  any  unusual  noise  would  have  startled  me." 

"You  are  so  good !  What  would  we  have  done  with 
out  you?"  raising  her  beautiful,  grateful  eyes. 

He  flushed  warmly.  "We  cannot  have  much  variety 
for  breakfast,"  with  a  gleam  of  amusement.  "We  may 
fare  better  to-night." 

He  lighted  the  small  fire  again,  collecting  the  charred 
embers. 

"Is  it  far  to  the  river — and  safe  ?" 

"Not  much  of  a  run,"  he  answered.  "The  shore  is 
shallow.  I  had  a  reviving  bath." 


H2       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Come,  Renee,"  and  she  held  out  her  hand  to  the 
child. 

Meanwhile,  Valbonais  replaced  the  stones,  wonder 
ing  what  hands  had  brought  them  there  in  the  first 
instance,  and  whether  white  or  Indian  lay  at  rest  be 
neath  them.  The  girls  were  racing  over  the  sand, 
bright,  fresh  and  glowing,  and  they  partook  of  their 
simple  breakfast  and  started  on  their  journey.  The 
sun  was  not  shining  brightly,  yet  there  was  no  indica 
tion  of  rain.  It  was  as  if  Nature  was  indulging  in  a 
tranquil  mood.  Now  and  then  a  flock  of  birds  went 
sailing  over  their  heads,  and  a  squirrel  out  of  place  ran 
nimbly  across  the  sand. 

"You  have  no  idea  how  far  it  is  to  St.  Louis  ?"  their 
companion  inquired. 

"Oh,  hundreds  of  miles !"  cried  Renee. 

"Hardly  that,"  said  Wawataysee.  "There  have  been 
so  many  delays.  When  I  came  from  the  straits  it  was 
with  the  fleet,  and  I  hardly  took  note ;"  flushing  as  she 
recalled  the  delightful  journey  with  her  husband.  "Yet 
it  seems  to  me  we  cannot  have  gone  so  very  far  up." 

"Is  there  any  particular  point  that  you  can  remem 
ber?  There  was  the  Indian  settlement  where  we  met, 
little  thinking  then  that  we  should  be  mates  on  a  return 
journey.  Whether  it  would  be  safe  to  trust  them " 

"There  was  another  halt,  up  a  little  stream.  A  set 
tlement  of  Peoria  Indians,  who  are  kindly  and  who 
have  adopted  many  habits  from  the  whites,  are  more 
intelligent  than  most  other  tribes.  That  is  down  far 
ther  still.  It  was  our  first  stopping  place.  They  were 
very  generous  with  provisions." 

"That  will  be  one  of  our  troubles.  Still  there  will 
be  small  game  to  shoot  and  fish  to  catch." 

Although  there  was  considerable  travel  down  the 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS  143 

Illinois  and  some  quite  well-appointed  stations,  they 
were  far  between.  The  fur  and  trading  fleets,  if  the 
lines  of  flat  boats  and  canoes  could  be  called  that,  car 
ried  abundant  provisions.  Roving  bands  of  Indians 
and  parties  of  adventurous  hunters  crossing  the  interior 
were  the  only  travellers,  and  they  often  stopped  at  the 
forts. 

They  went  farther  out  by  the  river.  And  suddenly 
there  was  a  serious  surprise.  Around  a  wooded  bend 
came  a  canoe  filled  with  Indians.  Then  another  and 
one  of  stores,  and  one  figure  was  suspiciously  studying 
the  shore.  They  had  hidden  among  the  trees,  but  were 
peering  out  cautiously. 

"Oh!"  Wawataysee  whispered,  "it  is  Elk  Horn  and 
his  party!  See,  he  is  standing  up,  looking  this  way! 
O  Mother  of  God,  come  to  the  assistance  of  thy  chil 
dren  !"  and,  sinking  on  her  knees,  she  clasped  her  hands 
in  supplication. 

It  was  Elk  Horn.  He  had  sobered  up  and  began  to 
realize  that  he  might  have  made  a  better  bargain  with 
his  prisoners.  He  had  secured  some  more  arms  and 
ammunition,  and  hoped  now  to  overtake  Black  Feather. 
His  glance  around  was  not  indicative  of  the  slightest 
certainty.  He  could  not  have  dreamed  that  the  fugi 
tives  in  the  woods  were  the  very  ones  he  meant  to 
quarrel  and  perhaps  fight  about  when  he  met  Black 
Feather. 

Wawataysee  scarcely  breathed  until  the  last  canoe 
was  but  a  dusky  line  on  the  river. 

"We  certainly  are  safe,"  Valbonais  said.  "Of  course, 
they  could  not  suppose  we  had  escaped." 

"I  was  so  afraid  they  were  in  search  of  a  landing 
place.  Oh,  if  they  had  stopped !"  in  terror. 

"Then    we    would    have    plunged    farther    in    the 


H4        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

woods,  climbed  trees  even.  I  do  not  mean  to  be  taken 
a  prisoner  again:  and  surely,  it  will  go  hard  with  me 
if  you  are,  or  hard  with  the  abductor !"  with  a  gleam  of 
resolution. 

"I  am  glad  they  have  gone  up  the  river,"  declared 
Wawataysee.  "Now  there  is  no  fear  of  meeting 
them." 

"If  we  could  find  some  traders  coming  down " 

"And  trust  them  ?"  There  was  a  troubled  light  in  her 
eye.  "Oh,  now  that  I  know  there  are  two  people  in 
the  world,  perhaps  three,  hungering  for  revenge  on  me, 
I  am  sore  afraid  at  times.  I  shall  never  see  a  Huron 
without  reading  a  menace  in  his  eye." 

Valbonais  glanced  at  her  inquiringly. 

"You  have  heard  part  of  the  story.  Let  me  join  the 
tangled  threads,  and  you  will  the  better  understand  my 
misgivings." 

"Let  us  go  on  now.  Every  hour  is  precious.  And 
it  will  delight  me  to  listen  to  anything  that  has  con 
cerned  thee,"  bowing  low  to  her. 

So  she  told  of  her  home  and  her  affiliations  with  the 
French,  being  related  on  her  mother's  side,  and  how  she 
had  always  liked  them  the  more,  while  her  brother  was 
proud  of  his  Indian  blood  and  his  chieftain  father.  It 
was  not  until  she  had  met  and  loved  Francois  Mar- 
chand  and  plighted  her  troth  to  him  that  she  was  in 
formed  of  her  brother's  intentions  toward  her,  and 
she  prayed  to  him  for  the  liberty  of  choosing  her  own 
husband — admitted,  indeed,  that  she  had  chosen  him 
and  could  be  the  wife  of  no  one  else.  Then  he  had  sent 
a  messenger  to  say  that  her  escort  was  on  the  way  with 
orders  to  bring  him  to  her  at  once,  and  that  prepara 
tions  were  being  made  for  a  grand  marriage.  The  trad 
ing  fleet  was  ready.  She  had  only  to  step  on  board. 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS  145 

At  the  first  mission  station  they  had  stopped  for  the 
priest  to  marry  them. 

"So,  you  see,  I  could  never,  never  be  the  wife  of 
any  other  man.  And  this  chief  has  two  wives.  He 
told  my  brother  that  I  should  be  first;  but  Indian 
women  do  not  always  accept  their  dismissal  so  easily." 

There  was  a  proud,  steadfast  light  in  her  eyes,  the 
bloom  of  courage  and  constancy  on  her  soft  cheek. 
How  beautiful  she  was ! 

"And  M.  Marchand "  in  a  low  tone,  half  in 
quiry. 

"Whether  he  is  dead  or  alive  I  do  not  know.  But  I 
am  his  in  death  as  well  as  life,"  with  a  firmness  that 
bespoke  the  utmost  devotion. 

No,  she  would  never  let  another  wrest  from  her  the 
holy  bond  she  had  given  him  with  her  sweet  maiden 
hood  love. 

Night  was  coming  on  apace  again.  There  was  no 
cairn  of  stones  to  be  transformed  into  a  sleeping  cham 
ber.  Renee  was  very  tired  and  a  little  pettish. 

"Is  there  nothing  for  supper  but  these  dried,  hard 
cakes  and  the  fish  ?"  she  asked  discontentedly. 

"And  not  even  that  for  breakfast,"  Valbonais  said 
lightly.  "I  must  get  up  early  and  shoot  some  game. 
There  is  no  corn  matured  yet,  so  if  we  came  to  growing 
fields  the  juicy  ears  would  not  be  there.  But  I  think 
I  can  find  something,"  hopefully. 

This  night  they  had  to  have  a  forest  bed,  but  he 
found  a  place  soft  with  a  kind  of  dried  turf,  and  spread 
out  one  blanket  for  pallet  and  left  one  to  cover  them 
with.  Then  he  kindled  a  fire  at  some  distance,  for 
he  had  heard  the  cry  of  an  animal.  Farther  off,  then 
nearer,  a  stealthy  creeping  along.  He  reached  for  his 
gun  and  glanced  cautiously  around.  Presently  he 


146       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

caught  the  glare  of  two  sparks  of  flame  coming  nearer, 
crouching  down,  and  he  fired. 

"Oh,  what  is  it?"  Wawataysee  sprang  up  in  af 
fright. 

"Some  animal.  I  think  he  is  dead,  however."  He 
lighted  a  torch  and  went  nearer,  touched  the  creature 
with  his  foot.  The  shot  had  hit  him  squarely,  shatter 
ing  his  head. 

"Only  a  poor  fox.  Nothing  for  our  breakfast ;"  yet 
he  gave  a  cheerful  laugh. 

"Oh,  I  am  glad  it  was  nothing  worse." 

"Do  not  dream  of  trouble.  The  good  God  will 
watch  over  us." 

She  pressed  his  hand.  She  was  glad  to  be  near  a 
lightsome,  courageous  human  being. 

Presently  she  stole  back  to  her  bed.  Nothing  else 
came  to  startle  them.  When  she  woke  again  the  sun 
was  shining.  Valbonais  had  kindled  a  fire,  shot  and 
dressed  some  birds  and  was  broiling  them  before  the 
coals. 

"Was  it  a  dream,"  she  asked,  "or  did  you  really  shoot 
in  the  night  ?" 

"Yes ;  and  I  have  taken  a  part  of  the  fox's  coat.  It 
may  be  useful  for  moccasin  soles  before  we  are 
through." 

"Poor  thing !"  she  said  pityingly. 

The  breakfast  was  delightful,  after  the  two  days  of 
dried  fish.  Then  Renee  found  a  patch  of  wild  straw 
berries  that  the  birds  had  not  discovered.  They  were 
dead  ripe  and  luscious.  Now  they  went  on  with  cheer 
ful  hearts,  keeping  the  river  in  sight,  but  meeting  noth 
ing  more  alarming  than  a  herd  of  roaming  deer.  It 
was  useless  to  fire  at  them ;  birds  would  be  more  to  the 
purpose.  Toward  night  they  struck  a  rude  cabin, 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS  147 

made  by  hunters,  as  it  did  not  look  like  Indian  work 
manship.  There  had  been  a  fire,  but  since  that  time 
it  had  rained.  Inside  was  a  table  and  a  bed  of  dried 
hemlock  branches. 

"I  think  we  had  better  stay,"  Valbonais  announced. 
"It  is  a  hunter's  cabin,  evidently,  and  no  one  has  been 
here  for  some  time.  There  is  a  little  stream  of  excel 
lent  water.  We  will  trust  luck,  at  all  events." 

They  had  some  supper  and  were  glad  of  shelter,  for 
it  came  on  to  rain,  but  no  such  terrific  storm  as  that 
which  had  worked  such  havoc  with  Black  Feather  and 
his  party.  The  soft  patter  on  the  leaves  was  delight 
ful  music,  though  for  awhile  the  rustle  of  the  wind 
seemed  almost  like  the  advance  of  human  beings. 

It  was  well  they  were  under  shelter,  for  it  rained  all 
the  next  day.  No  one  came  to  molest  them.  Val 
bonais  caught  such  an  excellent  supply  of  fish  that  he 
cooked  some  for  the  following  day.  If  there  was  only 
any  ripe  fruit ! 

"It  was  late  in  May  when  we  left  St.  Louis,"  Wawa- 
taysee  said. 

"And  now  it  is  June.     What  day  I  do  not  know." 

"Let  us  count  back." 

But  their  reckoning  was  not  alike.  They  forgot,  and 
then  recalled  incidents  that  had  marked  days,  then  lost 
count  again.  Renee  was  wretchedly  tired. 

"Poor  little  thing!"  exclaimed  Wawataysee.  "She 
has  been  very  good  and  courageous,  but  it  is  hard  for 
her.  And  look  at  her  poor  little  moccasins — out  to  the 
ground." 

"Then  Mr.  Foxskin  will  serve  us  a  useful  purpose. 
I  have  nothing  to  fasten  them  on  with,  but  can  tie  them 
with  strips  of  his  skin  to-morrow.  And  yours?" 

She  flushed.     Hers  were  in  the  same  plight. 


148        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"But  I  can  stand  hardships  better,"  and  she  smiled 
cheerfully. 

Renee  slept  all  the  afternoon  and  woke  much  re 
freshed.  It  had  stopped  raining,  and  now  they  were 
full  of  plans  for  to-morrow.  The  moon  came  out — the 
baby  star  had  travelled  nearly  across  it. 

"I  am  glad  it  is  a  new  moon.  We  shall  have  some 
benefit  of  it  the  rest  of  our  journey,"  their  guide 
said. 

"Oh,  when  shall  we  get  home?"  cried  Renee  impa 
tiently.  "Do  you  suppose  there  have  been  any  more 
Indian  assaults  ?" 

"You  have  been  remarkably  favored  at  St.  Louis. 
To  the  east,  towns  have  been  burned,  people  taken  cap 
tive  by  scores  or  murdered.  And  up  north  it  seems  to 
have  been  a  regular  battlefield,  with  the  French  losers 
every  time.  Think  of  the  English  holding  our  splen 
did  Quebec  and  Montreal!" 

"I  have  been  in  Quebec,  monsieur,"  declared  Renee, 
with  amusing  dignity. 

"And  France,  too,"  added  Wawataysee. 

Then  Renee  found  herself  quite  a  heroine  in  the  eyes 
of  Valbonais,  and  was  delighted  to  recall  her  experi 
ences. 

They  left  the  cabin  and  journeyed  on ;  slept  in  the 
woods  that  night  and  the  next.  There  had  been  sev 
eral  feasts  of  berries ;  they  saw  some  green  plums  and 
green  wild  grapes,  but  neither  were  tempting.  Now, 
some  way,  it  seemed  as  if  they  had  lost  their  reckoning. 
The  river  certainly  was  to  the  west  of  them. 

"And  we  must  go  southward,"  said  Wawataysee. 

Their  good  fortune  had  failed  them  to-day.  They 
had  found  nothing.  They  were  tired  and  hungry.  And 
if  they  were  lost ! 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS  149 

They  turned  into  an  opening.  Here  ran  a  clear 
creek,  at  which  they  quenched  their  thirst. 

"Let  us  follow  it  some  distance  at  least.  It  must  go 
to  the  river.  It  has  quite  a  current." 

It  suddenly  widened  out  and  grew  larger  as  they 
went  on.  They  glanced  at  each  other  in  dismay. 

"If  it  goes  to  the  river,  how  can  we  cross  so  wide  a 
stream?  Could  either  of  us  swim  with  the  child?  I 
think  it  would  be  better  to  go  back  and  cross  where  it 
is  narrower." 

So  they  retraced  their  steps  and  found  that  it  was 
fed  by  a  rivulet  on  the  other  side,  almost  hidden  by  the 
grass.  Valbonais  paused  a  moment  to  enjoy  the  pic 
ture.  Everywhere  the  most  serene  quiet.  Songs  of 
birds,  the  call  of  some  animal,  the  rustle  of  a  deer  and 
the  brown,  startled  eyes  gazing  at  one.  The  green  of 
the  foliage  with  its  light  and  varying  shades,  the  long 
stretches  of  wild  grass  dotted  with  various-colored 
flowers,  and  here  and  there  a  silvery  streak  of  sand  like 
a  silver  ribbon. 

On  and  on,  the  creek  growing  narrower.  The  man's 
eyes  caught  sight  of  a  young  fallen  tree. 

"I  think  I  can  bridge  it  over.  Let  me  try  this,"  and 
he  dragged  the  tree  to  the  edge,  stood  it  up,  letting  it 
fall  with  some  force.  It  just  touched  the  opposite 
shore. 

"Now  if  I  could  find  another.  Why  did  I  not  cap 
ture  a  hatchet  in  my  raid  on  the  Indians !" 

"The  water  is  clear  and  deep,"  said  Wawataysee; 
"too  deep  for  one  to  wade." 

"I  could  cross  it  with  the  child.  Still  I  will  see  if 
there  is  not  another  dead  tree." 

This  time  it  was  a  larger  one.     It  took  their  united 


150       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

strength  to  raise  it,  but  it  went  straight  across,  making 
quite  a  promising  bridge. 

"Would  you  dare?"  He  glanced  at  the  Indian  girl 
with  an  assurance  of  her  courage. 

"Would  I  dare?"  She  laughed  melodiously.  Then 
she  looked  steadily  at  it  a  moment,  started  like  an  arrow 
from  a  bow  and  in  a  flash  was  across. 

"Oh,  how  beautiful !  Can  I  try?"  Renee  clapped  her 
hands,  and  her  face  was  brimming  with  delighted 
eagerness. 

"Wait  a  moment."  Valbonais  picked  up  the  blan 
ket  and  strapped  his  gun  to  his  back,  convoying  them 
over  safely  and  depositing  them  on  the  ground.  "I 
wonder  if  we  dare  trust  the  child  ?" 

"Oh,  I  think  so.  It  is  such  a  step,"  Wawataysee  an 
swered. 

He  went  back  to  her.  "You  will  not  be  afraid,  little 
one?  You  can  run  swiftly,  and  if  you  can  keep  a 
steady  head " 

"Yes,  yes!"  Wawataysee  stood  with  outstretched 
arms  and  smiled.  Renee  started  with  a  child's  audac 
ity.  The  round  logs,  instead  of  the  flat  surface,  con 
fused  her  and  she  hesitated,  lost  her  balance  and  went 
down  with  a  cry.  Valbonais  sprang  into  the  creek,  but 
missed  his  first  grasp  of  her.  The  next  brought  her 
safely  up  and  Wawataysee  took  her,  frightened  and 
half  strangled.  Valbonais  shook  himself  and  laughed. 

"I  would  rather  the  clothes  had  not  taken  a  bath. 
And  she  is  wet,  but  not  injured." 

"It  slipped  and  rolled,"  the  child  began,  "and  then  I 
couldn't  keep  on.  Oh,  dear !  I  am  all  dripping." 

"Roll  her  in  a  blanket.  I  am  sorry  it  is  so  near  dark 
and  we  cannot  tell  quite  which  way  to  go." 

"We  must  keep  on  toward  the  Illinois,"  said  Wawa- 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS  151 

taysee.  "Oh,  and  now  I  think  we  came  up  a  creek  to 
the  Peorias'  lodge.  What  if  this  should  be  the  stream  ? 
Then  we  are  nearer  home  than  I  thought." 

Her  eyes  shone  like  stars,  her  voice  was  freighted 
with  joy,  for  her  thought  was  an  inspiration. 

"I  do  not  see  how  we  could  have  gone  out  of  the 
way,"  he  returned,  knitting  his  brows. 

"The  river  winds.  We  may  have  shortened  our 
journey  a  little  by  it.  And  if  we  could  find  the  lodge ! 
Oh,  I  can't  help  feeling  that  we  are  all  right !" 

She  was  wringing  Renee's  garments  and  rubbing 
her  with  a  blanket.  Valbonais  pressed  the  water  out 
of  his,  and  tried  to  catch  the  inspiration. 

"Now  we  must  go  on.  Renee,  you  must  keep  the 
blanket  about  you,"  the  elder  said. 

"But  it  is  so  warm.     I  am  most  smothered." 

"It  will  be  cooler  presently,"  in  a  consoling  tone. 

"And  I  am  so  hungry!"  she  said,  half  crying. 

They  had  eaten  nothing  since  morning. 

"We  are  all  hungry.  And  if  we  can  find  those  kindly 
Indians  they  will  give  us  a  feast." 

"I  hope  she  is  right,"  Valbonais  thought. 

They  walked  briskly  onward  for  a  while.  The  moon 
came  up  and  shed  its  silver  radiance,  setting  the  little 
stream  with  gems  and  showering  the  trees  with  her 
effulgent  flood.  But  to-night  they  could  not  enjoy 
it — could  hardly  keep  hope  alive. 

"I  am  so  tired !"  Renee  began  to  cry  in  earnest  and 
stopped  short.  The  reaction  had  come  and  she  shiv 
ered  with  a  chill.  Her  slight  frame  was  in  a  collapse. 

"I  will  carry  her,"  said  Valbonais.  "We  shall  get 
along  faster." 

Wawataysee  took  the  other  blanket  and  the  gun. 
The  summer  night  was  growing  chilly  here  at  the  edge 


152       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

of  the  creek.  They  waded  through  the  other  stream. 
Renee's  head  drooped  on  the  man's  shoulder.  She  had 
forgotten  her  troubles  in  sleep.  But  presently  he  had 
to  pause  with  his  burden. 

"Let  us  sit  here  and  rest  awhile.  And  if  you  could 
sleep  an  hour  it  would  refresh  you  so  much." 

Wawataysee  leaned  against  a  great  tree  bole  that 
was  like  a  column.  The  relaxation  was  grateful. 
What  with  fatigue  and  hunger,  nature  was  overpow 
ered  and  they  all  slept.  When  Wawataysee  awoke  the 
darkness  startled  her.  The  moon  had  gone  down.  She 
stretched  out  her  hand  in  half  terror. 

"You  have  had  a  nice  sleep,"  began  Valbonais  cheer 
fully.  "I,  too,  caught  a  nap.  It  must  be  near  morn 
ing.  Do  you  feel  that  you  can  go  on?" 

"Oh,  yes !  And  the  child  ?  How  strong  and  cour 
ageous  you  are !" 

He  stood  Renee  down  and  she  roused.  "Oh,  where 
are  we  ?"  she  cried  in  affright. 

"Here,  dear."  Wawataysee  took  her  hand.  "We 
are  going  to  the  Indian  lodge,  where  we  shall  get  some 
breakfast.  Can  you  walk?" 

"Why,  yes.  But  I  am  tired.  Will  we  soon  be 
there  ?  And,  oh,  I  wish  it  was  not  so  dark !" 

Still,  she  went  on  without  further  complaint.  Darker 
and  darker  it  seemed.  She  gave  her  other  hand  to  Val 
bonais.  They  both  felt  she  lagged  a  little. 

Suddenly  a  rosy  light  shot  up  in  the  east,  and  out  of 
it  great  spires  of  crimson  and  gold  that  set  the  heavens 
aflame.  The  stars  hung  low  in  the  northwest,  and 
one  by  one  dropped  out  of  sight.  Countless  birds  filled 
the  air  with  melody,  and  every  tree  and  shrub  shook  out 
its  fragrance. 

"Courage!"  Wawataysee  said,  but  her  voice  was 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS 


'S3 


tremulous  with  her  twenty-four  hours'  fast.  And  the 
walk  seemed  interminable.  Her  feet  were  shodden 
with  lead. 

Oh,  what  was  this  ?  Fields  of  young  corn,  shedding 
its  peculiar  fragrance  as  the  dew  was  vanishing  in  the 
drier  air  of  morning.  In  the  distance  hooded  wig 
wams,  a  palisade  to  the  north  for  shelter,  blue-gray 
curling  wreaths  going  up  from  newly  kindled  fires. 
The  barking  of  dogs  and  the  curious,  pervasive  sense 
of  human  life. 

It  seemed  as  if  an  army  of  dogs  rushed  out.  An 
authoritative  voice  checked  them,  and  an  Indian  came 
forward  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  alarm.  Wawataysee 
sank  down  on  a  stone  and  the  world  seemed  whirling 
round,  while  Renee,  crying,  fell  into  her  lap. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

WAS   EVER   WELCOME   SWEETER? 

IT  was,  indeed,  the  lodges  of  the  Peorias.  The  old 
chief,  Neepawa,  had  long  since  given  up  rambling  life, 
and  with  many  of  the  elder  people  formed  a  settlement, 
where  they  had  lived  in  peace  with  their  white  neigh 
bors  and  seldom  been  molested  by  their  red  brethren. 
They  were  more  industrious  than  many  tribes.  The 
main  colony  was  about  Ste.  Genevieve,  but  these  adored 
their  old  chief  and  his  wife  and  enjoyed  the 
smaller  combination.  They  were  kindly  hearted  and 
ready  to  hold  out  a  helping  hand,  and  enjoyed  their 
seclusion. 

Wawataysee  had  collapsed  from  fatigue  and  pure 
joy  at  the  certainty  that  they  would  reach  St.  Louis  once 
more.  Of  the  next  few  incidents  she  kept  only  the 
vague  remembrance  of  a  dream.  She  was  taken  into 
one  of  the  lodges  and  water  brought  to  her,  and  when 
the  woman  saw  how  utterly  exhausted  she  was,  she 
bathed  her  face  and  combed  her  hair,  then  her  poor 
feet,  and  brought  her  a  cup  of  warm  spiced  drink,  put 
her  in  some  fresh  garments  and  left  her  to  sleep.  Some 
other  motherly  hands  had  taken  Renee  in  charge,  who 
chattered  with  all  the  Indian  words  she  had  picked  up 
and  entertained  her  hostess  extremely. 

Meanwhile,  Valbonais  had  related  to  the  old  chief  his 
own  mishaps,  his  meeting  with  Wawataysee  and  Renee 
in  their  captivity,  the  terrible  storm  and  the  disaster 
to  Black  Feather  and  his  followers  that  had  led  to  their 


WAS  EVER  WELCOME    SWEETER?         155 

opportunity  of  escape.  Neepawa  had  heard  of  the  at 
tack  on  St.  Louis,  and  the  signal  repulse  the  marauders 
had  suffered.  He  admired  the  courage  of  the  captives 
and  was  glad  they  had  found  a  haven.  From  here 
they  could  easily  be  returned  to  St.  Louis.  But  Val- 
bonais  also  learned  that  they  had  narrowly  missed  an 
encounter  with  quite  a  large  body  of  Sioux  and  Win- 
nebagoes,  who  would  no  doubt  have  taken  them  pris 
oners  again  if  they  had  followed  the  river  more  directly. 
They  had  made  quite  a  wide  detour,  it  seemed,  and  to 
that  they  owed  their  safety. 

Renee  seemed  none  the  worse  for  her  ducking  and 
the  fatigue  when  she  had  been  bathed,  put  in  dry 
clothes  and  had  a  bountiful  breakfast.  The  Indian 
children  and  their  plays  interested  her  immensely.  And 
there  was  so  much  strange  and  new  about  the  settle 
ment  and  other  things  that  suggested  her  first  Indian 
friend,  Mattawissa. 

Wawataysee  slept  until  past  noon,  when  she  awoke 
refreshed,  and  at  the  first  moment  so  surprised  that  she 
could  not  imagine  where  she  was.  But  the  familiar 
faces  of  Renee  and  Andre  Valbonais  quite  restored  her. 
How  warmly  sympathetic  these  children  of  nature 
were !  Ah,  what  if  they  had  fallen  into  captivity  again ! 
and  she  shuddered. 

They  talked  of  starting,  but  the  old  chief  would  not 
listen  to  such  a  plan. 

"You  have  had  enough  of  travelling  in  the  night," 
he  said.  "To-morrow  some  of  our  young  men  will 
take  you  down.  Until  then  be  content." 

So  they  smoked  the  pipe  of  peace  and  amity,  and 
talked  of  the  mighty  changes  going  on  in  the  Conti 
nent,  the  new  nation  seeming  a  conglomerate  of  many 
peoples,  sweeping  everything  before  them  with  their 


156        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

resistless  energy ;  of  the  towns  springing  up  where  dif 
ferent  tribes  had  roamed  about  and  slaughtered  each 
other.  Almost  eighty  years  ago  Neepawa  had  been 
born,  when  his  race  was  ruler  of  nearly  all  the  coun 
try. 

The  travellers  were  really  loaded  with  gifts  the  next 
morning.  Two  young  Indians  were  to  row  them  down 
the  river  and  return.  With  many  thanks  they  parted 
from  their  kind  entertainers,  with  promises  of  grateful 
remembrance. 

Renee  could  hardly  contain  herself.  Anywhere  else 
she  must  have  danced  for  joy.  Of  course,  there  would 
be  Uncle  Gaspard.  And  she  almost  believed  Mere 
Lunde  must  have  found  her  way  home,  since  they  had 
succeeded  under  such  difficulties. 

And  now  familiar  sights  met  their  eyes.  Here  was 
the  Missouri  River  coming  to  greet  her  mighty 
mother ;  Fort  St.  Charles  with  its  hamlets,  the  bend  in 
the  river,  the  islands,  the  old  town  itself,  the  towers, 
the  fort,  the  palisade  rendered  much  stronger  since  the 
attack;  the  bluff  with  its  rocky  ledge,  and  then  the 
wharf. 

Business  was  over.  There  was  not  much  doing  at 
this  season,  and  nearly  every  one  had  gone  home.  A 
few  parties  were  out  canoeing  or  rowing  on  the  river. 
The  two  Indians  would  return  in  spite  of  entreaties, 
and  they  bid  their  white  guests  good-by. 

Down  along  the  levee  the  two  girls,  holding  hands 
tightly,  ran  with  all  their  speed.  One  hardly  had  a 
chance  to  see  their  faces.  They  turned  up  by  the 
Government  House,  where  a  group  of  men  sat  smoking 
and  enjoying  the  late  afternoon  coolness.  Valbonais  fol 
lowed  wonderingly.  This  was  St.  Louis!  What  had 
Indians  or  British  hoped  to  gain  by  attacking  so  small 


WAS  EVER  WELCOME  SWEETER?         157 

a  place,  for  he  had  thought  of  it  as  resembling  Mon 
treal  or  Quebec.  Up  the  Rue  de  la  Tour — there  stood 
the  shop  door  open 

"Uncle  Gaspard!  Dear  Uncle  Gaspard!  we  have 
come  back !"  cried  Renee,  flying  in. 

It  was  not  Uncle  Gaspard,  but  Frangois  Marchand, 
growing  white  to  the  very  lips  at  the  apparition  that 
met  his  gaze.  Was  it  a  dream  ?  He  hardly  dared  ap 
proach.  The  words  died  on  his  lips. 

Renee  dropped  the  Indian  girl's  hand  and  rushed 
through  the  half-open  doorway.  There  was  Mere 
Lunde  in  a  chair  outside,  half  hidden  in  the  nest  of 
vines,  knitting  leisurely.  That  for  the  moment  did  not 
surprise  Renee.  She  caught  the  elder  woman's  shoul 
der  and  almost  shook  her. 

"Where  is  my  Uncle  Gaspard?  Tell  me  at  once! 
Where  is  he?  Where  is  he?"  the  child  cried  imperi 
ously. 

Mere  Lunde  let  her  knitting  fall  and  stared  with  wild 
eyes.  "He !"  she  exclaimed  tremulously.  "He !  Have 
you  not  met  him  ?  He  set  out  almost  at  once  for  you. 
Oh,  the  good  God  and  all  the  angels  be  praised !  Now 
we  will  be  happy  again.  Oh,  child,  my  heart  has 
broken  for  you !  How  did  you  escape  ?" 

All  the  color  left  Renee's  eager  face.  She  stretched 
out  her  hands  as  if  to  clasp  something.  The  eyes 
seemed  dulled  by  some  far,  desperate  gaze. 

"Uncle  Gaspard!     Gone!"  she  faltered. 

"Oh,  did  you  not  meet  him?  Child,  he  would  not 
rest  until  he  had  set  out.  Is  it  thy  pretty  prank,  little 
one?  Is  he  staying  behind  to  tell  some  one  the  story 
and  then  surprise  us?" 

"He  did  not  come !"  she  wailed,  her  heart  throbbing 
with  passionate  grief.  "We  have  not  seen  him.  Oh, 


158        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

mere,  mere,  the  cruel  Indians  have  captured  him !  And 
I  was  so  sure." 

She  sank  in  a  little  heap  at  the  woman's  feet.  After 
all  the  dangers  and  alternations  of  hope  and  fear,  the 
fatigues,  the  last  blow  had  been  too  much  for  her. 
Mere  Lunde  gathered  the  limp  form  in  her  arms,  then 
laid  her  on  the  rustic  settle,  chafing  the  small  hands 
and  bathing  the  face  with  a  fragrant  concoction  of  her 
French  skill.  She  drew  slow  breaths  presently,  but 
did  not  open  her  eyes. 

Frangois  Marchand  gazed  on  his  wife,  speechless 
with  a  curious  doubt,  as  one  in  a  dream.  Then  he  came 
nearer.  She  was  thinner,  the  rose  bloom  had  faded 
from  her  cheeks  and  there  were  dark  shadows  about 
her  eyes.  But  oh,  surely  it  was  no  ghost  come  to  mock 
him! 

He  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  if  the  shape  had  melted 
into  vague  nothingness  he  would  not  have  felt  sur 
prised.  But  it  did  not.  It  was  soft  flesh.  He  rained 
kisses  on  brow  and  cheek  and  lips;  her  sigh  was  a 
breath  of  perfume.  Was  it  moments  or  hours  ? 

"Thanks  be  to  God  and  our  good  friend  Gaspard!" 
he  said  presently.  "Oh,  my  sweet  blossom  of  north 
ern  wilds,  my  treasure,  my  queen,  how  I  have  feared 
and  wept  for  thee !  What  lonely  days !  What  sleepless 
nights !  And  I  bound  to  the  bed  by  wounds  and  fever 
and  a  broken  limb,  knowing  thou  wert  in  the  hands 
of  cruel  enemies  and  I  helpless  to  succor  thee.  And 
that  brave  soul  came  to  thy  rescue !  How  can  we  ever 
thank  him  enough?" 

She  could  not  speak  at  first,  only  return  kisses  for 
kisses.  He  found  a  seat  and  drew  her  close  in  tender 
embrace ;  felt  the  throb  of  the  heart  against  his,  though 
the  whole  slim  figure  was  full  of  languor. 


WAS  EVER  WELCOME  SWEETER  ?         159 

"And  I  was  never,  certain  if  you  were  dead  or  alive. 
When  they  dragged  me  from  you  at  the  edge  of  the 
woods  there  was  no  motion  to  assure  me.  All  night  I 
dreamed  of  you,  torn,  perhaps,  by  some  prowling  beast, 
or  lying  there  stark  and  stiff." 

"It  was  Gaspard  who  found  me,  who  placed  me  in 
wise  care  and  then  set  off.  Oh,  let  us  go  and  thank 
him.  Every  moment's  delay  is  ingratitude." 

"Is  he  not  here?"  She  raised  her  head  from  his 
breast.  "We  have  not  seen  him.  We  owe  our  escape 
and  guidance  to  another  captive — a  young  fellow  con 
sidered  a  slave.  But — we  have  not  seen  M.  Denys." 

"Heaven  send  him  safely  back  to  us,  then !  He  is  a 
brave,  noble  friend.  He  believed  you  might  be  taken 
up  to  the  straits  and  the  child  would  be  with  you." 

She  shuddered.  She  could  not  mar  this  happy  mo 
ment  by  a  relation  of  the  dreadful  fate  which  for  a  few 
days  had  hung  over  her  and  made  her  prefer  death. 
Ah,  how  much  harder  the  resolve  would  have  been  had 
she  known  of  a  certainty  that  her  husband  was  living ! 

"After  much  tedious  journeying  we  reached  the  Peo- 
ria  settlement,  back  from  the  Illinois  River,  where  the 
old  Chief  Neepawa  governs  a  remnant  of  his  tribe. 
They  were  most  kindly  and  gave  us  rest  and  food  until 
we  were  quite  restored.  Afterward  they  brought  us 
home.  Oh,  my  husband,  my  lord,  my  lover!  To  be 
with  you  once  more  is  enough.  I  would  have  suffered 
twice  the  hardships  and  dangers  for  such  a  blissful 
end !" 

He  felt  her  frame  tremble  in  his  arms  and  pressed 
her  closer  in  a  transport  of  tenderness.  Ah,  the  perfect 
content ! 

Then  she  bethought  herself. 

"The  child,"  she  said,  awakening  to  the  more  gen- 


160       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

erous  flow  of  sympathy  that  love  for  the  time  had  over 
whelmed.  "The  poor  little  Renee !  She  has  looked  for 
ward  every  hour  to  meeting  him  again,  and  the  disap 
pointment  will  be  bitter.  It  is  more  like  a  woman's 
love  than  a  child's,  though  she  is  innocent  of  the  deeper 
strivings  of  maidenhood.  Come,  let  us  go  to  her." 

Mere  Lunde  had  to  give  the  young  wife  a  warm 
welcome.  The  tears  of  joy  filled  her  faded  eyes. 

Renee  lay  on  the  settle,  sobbing.  Wawataysee  bent 
over  an5  would  have  taken  her  hand. 

"Go  away !  go  away !"  she  cried  imperiously.  "I  do 
not  want  you.  You  have  him  to  be  glad  with  and  I 
have  no  one,  no  one !" 

The  pathos  of  the  tone  was  heartrending. 

"Renee,  my  little  dear,  Francois  is  so  glad." 

"Go  away!"  She  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and 
slapped  impatiently  with  her  hand.  "I  will  not  listen. 
The  Indians  have  Uncle  Gaspard,  I  know." 

Mere  Lunde  beckoned  them.  "She  is  very  wilful 
at  times,  and  now  her  heart  is  sore.  But  the  good 
saints  have  led  you  both  back.  He  has  been  north 
many  a  time  and  come  home  unharmed." 

"They  will  kill  him  this  time!"  the  child  almost 
shrieked.  "There  was  that  fierce  Black  Feather !  Oh, 
he  will  never  come  back,  never!" 

The  old  woman  waved  them  to  the  doorway  and  they 
turned  and  passed  out.  All  the  garden  was  abloom 
and  sweet  with  the  fragrance  of  growing  fruit,  tangled 
vines  and  flowers.  The  pale  heavens  had  lost  the  light 
of  day,  and  the  blue  of  the  night  was  hidden  by  a  soft 
gray  vagueness.  Birds  were  singing  good-night  songs 
to  each  other  and  to  sleepy  nestlings.  Marchand,  with 
his  arm  around  his  wife,  drew  her  into  a  secluded  spot. 

"Black   Feather   was   a   Huron,"   he   said,   "mean, 


WAS  EVER  WELCOME  SWEETER  ?         161 

tricky,  avaricious.  Surely  you  were  not  in  his  hands?" 
and  his  grasp  tightened. 

"Only  a  little  while.  Oh,  I  would  never  have  been 
taken  alive  to  the  straits!  And  this  young  Valbonais 
was  their  captive.  Oh,  where  has  he  disappeared  to? 
He  had  an  uncle  in  St.  Louis,  whither  he  was  coming 
when  they  captured  him." 

"Tell  me  the  story.  I  have  had  hundreds  of  fears 
for  you,  my  darling,  yet  I  kept  trusting  the  All  Father." 

"Oh,  not  to-night !"  she  pleaded.  "Is  it  not  enough 
that  I  am  restored,  and  that  no  evil  has  happened  to 
me?  Let  us  not  mar  the  joy  of  this  meeting." 

So  they  sat  until  the  white  veil  in  the  sky  cleared 
away  and  all  was  a  heavenly  blue,  with  stars  shining 
so  bright  they  took  on  beautiful  tints  and  twinkled  as 
in  a  fairy  dance.  To  the  reunited  hearts  there  had 
never  been  such  a  night  of  joy  and  splendor. 

Renee  sobbed  herself  to  sleep,  worn  out  with  the 
pangs  of  disappointment.  Mere  Lunde  would  not  dis 
turb  her.  She  set  out  a  little  supper  for  the  other  two, 
and  they  talked  in  low  tones.  Mere  Lunde  told  of  her 
wanderings,  and  that  she  had  almost  died  of  hunger 
and  thirst. 

"We  who  were  so  sadly  bereft  resolved  to  join 
forces,"  explained  Marchand.  "Gaspard  Denys  ought 
not  lose  everything  by  his  generosity.  So  I  have 
watched  the  trade  and  tried  to  fill  his  place  as  best  I 
could,  and  Mere  Lunde  has  kept  the  house,  both  pray 
ing  and  hoping.  Several  prisoners  have  escaped  or  been 
left  by  the  Indians,  who  really  did  not  want  them 
and  were  afraid  to  practise  the  cruelties  of  other  days 
lest  a  severe  punishment  might  overtake  them." 

Renee  was  still  dejected  and  inconsolable  the  next 
morning,  and  would  receive  no  overtures  from  Wawa- 


i6z       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

taysee.  The  young  wife  understood.  Not  that  Renee 
would  have  wished  her  any  ill,  but  with  the  unreason 
of  feminine  things  she  could  not  endure  the  sight  of 
their  happy  faces,  the  sound  of  the  tender  words  they 
exchanged.  She  went  out  in  the  corner  of  the  garden 
and  made  her  moan,  and  would  not  be  seen  of  the 
friends  that  came  to  congratulate  the  returned  captives. 

"Nearly  noon  a  young  man  paused  at  the  gate,  look 
ing  a  little  uncertain. 

"It  is  Andre  Valbonais!"  cried  Wawataysee,  with 
delight.  "I  will  bring  him  in  and  you  must  thank  him 
with  your  full  heart." 

Valbonais  was  bright  and  smiling,  his  ragged  clothes, 
that  scarcely  held  together,  replaced  by  a  comfortable 
suit,  if  not  new ;  his  hair  trimmed  and  in  good  order — 
a  very  attractive  young  fellow  now,  certainly. 

"We  were  going  to  set  out  on  a  search  for  you," 
Wawataysee  began.  "In  some  unexpected  manner 
we  lost  sight  of  you  last  night.  How  did  you  fare?" 

"Oh,  not  badly,"  with  a  cheerful  smile.  "I  knew  you 
would  go  to  friends  who  would  be  overjoyed  to  see 
you,  and  I  wandered  down  a  street,  trying  to  find  an 
inn,  for  I  was  not  sure  I  would  be  allowed  to  stop  in 
the  street  all  night.  So  in  my  inquiry  I  met  some  one 
who  knew  my  uncle,  Pierre  Valbonais,  who,  it  seems, 
is  at  work  in  your  great  mill,  and  who  lives  beyond  the 
court-house,  in  the  Rue  des  Grainges.  My  faith,  but 
you  are  a  very  hospitable  folk,"  and  his  eyes  shone 
with  a  joyous  light.  "This  M.  Pion  would  give  me 
some  supper  and  a  bed,  and  we  talked  over  my  adven 
tures  smoking  our  pipes." 

"I  am  glad  you  found  a  friend.  It  was  our  desire 
to  take  you  in.  And  your  relative  ?"  with  a  slight  hesi 
tation. 


WAS  EVER  WELCOME   SWEETER?         163 

"I  found  my  way  to  the  mill,  and  the  uncle  greeted 
me  cordially.  There  is  an  aunt  and  some  cousins,  it 
seems,  and  I  am  to  make  my  home  with  them  for  the 
present.  Moreover,  I  find  there  is  plenty  of  work  to 
do  and  I  shall  be  happy.  Where  is  the  little  maid  ?" 

Wawataysee  explained  Renee's  grief  at  finding  her 
uncle  had  not  returned  from  his  search.  Then  M.  Mar- 
chand  took  him  through  to  the  shop,  and  was  so  earnest 
in  his  gratitude  that  it  touched  Valbonais  deeply. 

Renee  came  out  of  her  garden  corner  as  he  was 
going  away.  Her  pretty  eyes  were  swollen  with  weep 
ing. 

"Oh,  little  one,  you  were  so  brave  on  the  journey, 
amid  all  the  hardships,  that  you  must  not  lose  heart 
now !  And  I  hear  your  uncle  has  made  many  trips  with 
the  traders,  so  he  knows  about  the  Indians  and  is  not 
likely  to  let  them  take  him  unawares.  He  will  return, 
surely." 

She  cast  her  eyes  down  and  made  no  reply.  She 
would  not  be  comforted  even  by  him. 

The  Renauds  came  over  in  the  afternoon,  and  though 
the  girls  followed  her  to  the  garden,  she  would  not  be 
amused  with  their  chatter.  What  did  she  care  about 
a  new  frock  or  a  tea-drinking  on  the  green  by  the  fort, 
or  games  and  plays? 

"She  is  very  disagreeable  and  cold,"  said  Elise  to 
Sophie  as  they  were  walking  home.  "I  suppose  be 
cause  she  has  a  'de'  before  her  name  she  thinks  she  can 
put  on  any  airs.  But  I  am  older  and  shall  have  a  lover 
first.  Of  course,  M.  Denys  will  return.  He  always 
has  before." 

So  everybody  thought.  And  a  child  cannot  be  un 
happy  forever  when  every  one  joins  to  dispel  her  sor 
row.  She  thawed  out  very  slowly.  Andre  hardly 


164       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

knew  what  to  make  of  her,  she  was  so  grave  and  indif 
ferent. 

He  had  found  employment  in  the  mill  and  felt  quite 
elated.  Madame  Valbonais  liked  him  very  much. 
There  was  one  son  a  trapper,  though  he  did  not  take 
very  long  journeys.  Then  there  were  two  bright  girls 
who  were  not  averse  to  having  such  an  attractive 
cousin. 

Through  them  he  came  to  know  the  Renauds,  and 
Barbe  he  thought  extremely  winsome.  Before  a  fort 
night  had  passed  he  was  in  the  merrymakings  and 
dances,  and  having  a  most  enjoyable  time.  It  did  not 
trouble  him  now  that  he  had  been  in  more  than  one 
peril  of  his  life. 

The  lieutenant-governor  who  had  proved  himself  so 
unworthy  was  recalled.  M.  Cruzat  was  fortifying  the 
town  more  securely  than  it  had  ever  been,  but  for  some 
time  any  body  of  Indians  going  back  and  forth  roused 
a  feeling  of  distrust  and  fear.  Pleasure  parties  were 
careful  not  to  trust  themselves  too  far  away. 

Mere  Lunde  begged  Wawataysee  to  remain  with 
them,  as  M.  Marchand  was  taking  charge  of  the  busi 
ness.  When  Mattawissa  came  in  with  her  pretty 
work  and  various  articles,  many  of  which  went  down 
to  New  Orleans,  she  and  the  young  wife  made  very 
good  friends. 

"She  will  take  every  one  away  from  me,"  thought 
the  child  with  a  swelling  heart,  and  she  grew  more  re 
served.  Even  Mere  Lunde  had  to  yield  to  the  sweet 
ness  of  Wawataysee.  Sometimes  she  sang  really  beau 
tiful  Indian  songs  and  described  vividly  the  dances  and 
entertainments,  though  there  were  many  in  which  only 
old  women  were  allowed. 

July  began  to  ripen  fruits  and  fill  the  farmers  with 


WAS  EVER  WELCOME  SWEETER?         165 

joy  at  the  prospect  of  abundant  crops.  But  Renee 
counted  the  weeks  sadly.  She  was  growing  pale  and 
thinner,  and  roamed  about  like  an  unquiet  ghost.  She 
would  not  play  with  the  children,  but  rambled  deso 
lately  by  herself  and  occasionally  stole  down  to  the  end 
of  the  stockade  and  ventured  out  to  see  her  grand 
father.  He  seemed  nearly  always  at  home  now,  sit 
ting  outside  his  neglected-looking  cabin  smoking  his 
pipe  and  patching  his  clothes  or  making  moccasins,  on 
which  he  put  stout  soles  of  skin.  He  would  nod  and 
occasionally  push  a  stool  to  her,  which  was  the  round 
of  a  log,  and  motion  her  to  be  seated. 

One  day  he  said  sharply :  "Has  anything  been  heard 
of  Gaspard  Denys  ?  Some  traders  have  come  in." 

She  knew  that.    They  had  been  at  the  shop. 

"They  have  not  seen  him,"  she  admitted  sorrowfully. 

"There  would  be  news  if  he  had  been  killed." 

"Oh !  oh !"  A  sharp  pang  went  to  the  child's  heart. 
To  have  another  put  her  dread  into  words  was  like 
confirming  it. 

"That  might  be,"  said  the  old  man.  "The  pitcher 
may  go  to  the  spring  without  spout  or  handle,  but  it 
gets  an  unlucky  knock  at  the  last." 

She  was  silent. 

"He  made  me  give  you  to  him.  He  bound  me  with 
signing  a  paper.  Then  if  you  are  his,  what  he  has 
comes  naturally  to  you.  There  is  the  house  and  the 
garden.  And  the  shop,  with  all  its  stores.  Gaspard 
Denys  has  a  strong  box.  There  may  be  gold  and  sil 
ver  in  it.  It  belongs  to  you." 

Renee  stared  at  him.  His  skin  was  browner  than 
ever,  and  his  face  wrinkled  in  every  direction.  His  hair 
was  unkempt,  his  eyes  were  so  squinted  up  that  they 
looked  like  two  sparks  merely. 


166       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "what  should  I  want  with  it  all,  and 
no  Uncle  Gaspard  ?" 

"It  will  be  a  good  dot.  It  will  make  you  a  good 
marriage  when  the  time  comes.  And  they  must  not 
get  it  away  from  you." 

"They?     Who?"  in  surprise. 

"That  man  and  his  half-Indian  wife.  Ah,  I  have 
seen  people  before,  men  who  can  plan  adroitly.  And 
I  tell  you  now  he  shall  not  have  it.  When  the  time 
comes  I  shall  turn  him  out  neck  and  heels,  and  we  will 
see !  I  shall  not  have  you  cheated  out  of  your  rights, 
Renee  de  Longueville." 

"I  don't  understand.  If  it  is  M.  Marchand  you 
mean "  and  she  eyed  the  old  man  resolutely. 

"Who  asked  him  to  come  in  there?  Gaspard  Denys 
locked  up  his  place,  and  he  and  that  old  woman  opened 
it.  They  had  no  right,  I  say." 

He  struck  the  flat  stone  beside  him  with  his  fist,  but 
it  did  not  seem  to  hurt  that  member. 

"It  was  Mere  Lunde's  home.  And  she  looks  for 
him  every  day.  Oh,  if  word  came  that  he  was  dead 
we  should  both  die  of  grief !" 

Her  lip  quivered,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Bah !  No  one  dies  of  grief.  And  I  will  keep  you 
out  of  that  man's  clutches.  I  am  your  grandfather 
and  I  have  some  rights." 

Renee  shuddered  at  the  fierce  old  man.  She  had 
used  to  feel  afraid  of  him,  but  it  seemed  of  late  that 
she  did  not  fear  anything,  the  darkness  of  the  night 
nor  the  thunder  storms,  when  it  appeared  as  if  the  town 
would  be  hurled  into  the  river.  What  if  he  should 
really  claim  her,  if — if —  Oh,  she  would  a  hundred 
times  rather  stay  with  M.  Marchand,  even  if  he  was 
kissing  and  caressing  Wawataysee  half  the  time. 


WAS  EVER  WELCOME   SWEETER?         167 

"I  must  go,"  she  said,  rising.  She  had  been  trying 
to  esteem  him  a  little  now  that  she  was  so  lonely,  but 
all  the  endeavor  was  like  water  spilled  on  the  ground, 
and  he  had  broken  the  bowl. 

"You  will  come  again.  No  one  shall  cheat  you  out 
of  your  rights,"  nodding  vigorously. 

She  turned  away.  First  she  thought  she  would  walk 
along  the  river.  It  crept  lazily  to-day,  yellow  in  the 
yellow  sunshine.  But  when  she  reached  the  Rue  Roy- 
ale  she  turned  into  that.  She  did  not  care  to  pass  the 
Renauds' — why  was  it  that  she  could  not  love  any  one 
any  more?  that  her  heart  seemed  like  lead  in  her 
bosom?  So  she  went  up  to  the  Rue  de  1'Eglise 
straight  on  to  the  little  church.  She  had  not  been  Sat 
urday  afternoons  of  late.  She  knew  the  catechism 
and  the  prayers,  and  the  children's  drawl  seemed  to 
spoil  it  for  her.  Sometimes  people  prayed  for  things 
and  they  came.  Well,  she  was  praying  all  the  time  for 
Uncle  Gaspard's  return.  Maybe  it  ought  to  be  asked 
for  in  the  church.  She  crept  in  softly. 

The  little  old  place  was  very,  very  plain.  Even  the 
altar  and  the  high  altar  had  but  few  decorations  at  this 
time.  There  was  a  candle  burning  and  it  shed  a  pale 
glow.  There  was  a  basin  of  holy  water,  and  she  rever 
ently  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  with  it.  Then  she 
knelt  down  on  the  floor  and  clasped  her  small  hands. 

"O  holy  God,"  she  prayed,  "O  Christ,  son  of  the 
holy  God,  listen  to  my  sorrow,  I  beseech  thee.  Send 
back  Uncle  Gaspard,  for  my  life  is  so  lonely  without 
him.  Keep  him  safe  from  all  danger." 

It  seemed  so  different  to  pray  here.  She  would  come 
every  day  now.  This  was  God's  house. 

It  was  strange  and  she  did  not  understand  it  a  bit, 
but  her  heart  felt  lighter.  The  old  garden  was  gay 


1 68       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

with  bloom.  Chatte  came  to  meet  her,  arched  his  back 
and  waved  his  tail  like  a  flag,  looking  at  her  out  of 
green,  translucent  eyes  with  a  black  bar  straight  up  and 
down.  She  stooped  and  patted  him  and  he  began  to 
purr  with  delight.  He  was  as  fond  as  she  of  sitting  in 
Uncle  Gaspard's  lap. 

Mere  Lunde  was  pounding  green  grapes,  great,  lus 
cious  wild  grapes,  into  a  mash.  Then  she  would  strain 
out  the  seeds  and  make  a  most  delicious  jam  with  maple 
sugar.  How  fragrant  the  room  was  with  the  spicy 
scent !  She  went  up  and  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  tears 
came  to  the  woman's  eyes  at  the  unexpected  caress. 

Wawataysee  sat  by  the  open  window  doing  some  beau 
tiful  beadwork.  M.  Marchand  was  busy  sorting  goods 
and  piling  them  up  on  the  shelves,  and  whistling  soft 
and  low  like  the  wood  thrush.  Well,  why  should  he 
not  be  happy,  now  that  he  had  Wawataysee  back? 
And  she  had  been  almost  angry  about  it — no,  not  an 
gry,  but  hurt,  and — perhaps  she  was  selfish.  Ah,  think 
of  her  grandfather  being  here  and  turning  things 
about,  making  it  dismal  and  wretched !  No,  he  should 
not  order  the  place  and  turn  out  these  two  who  had 
been  so  kind.  Perhaps  the  Governor  would  know  what 
was  right.  She  would  pray  it  might  never  happen. 
That  would  be  another  petition.  And  without  under 
standing  how  religion  comforted,  she  was  happier. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

HER    ANSWER. 

IT  was  strange  how  petitions  grew.  Renee  used  to 
walk  gravely  up  to  the  old  church— the  door  was  never 
fastened — and  slip  in  and  say  her  prayer.  Once  a 
woman  came  who  had  lost  her  little  baby. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  when  they  had  exchanged  sorrows, 
"I  think  thou  wilt  be  comforted.  Gaspard  Denys  has 
come  back  times  before.  Many  of  our  husbands  and 
brothers  have  returned.  But  my  little  baby  cannot 
return.  I  may  live  many,  many  years  and  grow  old, 
and  in  all  that  time  I  shall  never  see  him !" 

Yes,  that  was  a  great  sorrow,  and  a  long  waiting. 

August  came  in.  Pears  and  plums  were  ripening, 
and  various  articles  were  being  put  by  for  winter  use. 
Sometimes  the  season  was  long  and  cold,  and  it  was 
well  to  be  prepared.  Men  worked  in  the  fields  to  gather 
the  early  crops,  and  the  young  people  had  merry  dances 
at  night.  The  days  began  to  grow  a  little  shorter 
already. 

Some  one  said  as  she  stepped  out  of  church  one 
afternoon:  "There  is  a  small  fleet  coming  down  the 
river.  Pierre  Chouteau  expects  one  of  his  in  next 
week,  but  that  will  have  a  dozen  or  more." 

"That  is  only  Latour's.  He  has  been  up  to  St. 
Charles,"  was  the  answer.  "They  have  a  great  abun 
dance  of  corn  this  season." 

Next  week!  Renee's  little  heart  beat  with  a  great 
bound  of  joy.  And  after  that  boats  would  be  coming 


1 70      A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

in  weekly,  Indians  with  canoes  full  of  furs,  dried  veni 
son  and  fish  from  the  lakes.  If  one  of  them  brought 
Uncle  Gaspard! 

She  went  down  to  the  rise  of  ground,  almost  like  an 
embankment,  long  since  worn  away.  She  could  see 
over  the  small  throng.  The  first  boat  was  moored ;  it 
had  bales  of  something.  The  second  had  some  passen 
gers,  women  among  them.  A  man  was  standing  up, 
and  suddenly  he  waved  his  hand.  Who  was  it?  It 
was  waved  again. 

"Oh!  oh!"  She  dropped  down.  All  the  air  was 
full  of  sparks,  and  the  river  seemed  turning  round 
and  getting  mingled  with  the  sky.  When  the  mist 
cleared  away  she  saw  a  confused  throng  of  people, 
some  leaping  ashore,  and  a  hurly-burly  of  voices. 
Had  that  brief  vision  been  a  dream  ?  She  felt  strangely 
weak,  then  she  laughed  without  knowing  why  and  her 
eyes  overflowed  with  tears. 

A  tall  form  came  climbing  up  the  hill  with  long 
strides,  and  then  she  was  clasped  in  strong  arms,  she 
felt  kisses  on  her  forehead,  she  was  lifted  off  her  feet. 

"Little  one!"  the  voice  said;  and  only  one  thing  in 
her  after  life  sounded  as  sweet.  "Little  one,  oh,  thank 
heaven  you  were  saved !" 

Then  they  sat  down  on  the  grass  the  sun  had 
scorched  into  a  dried  mat. 

"Did  you  come  thinking  to  meet  me  ?" 

"I  meant  to  come  every  time  after  this  to  meet  the 
boats.  Oh,  you  are  alive!  The  fierce  Indians  have 
not  killed  you." 

How  her  voice  trembled  with  emotion,  and  her 
hands  were  clasped  tight  about  his  arm ! 

"They  have  not  had  much  chance."  How  good  it 
was  to  hear  the  old  cheerful  laugh.  "And  Wawataysee 


HER   ANSWER  171 

is  safe,  as  well  ?  Did  Marchand  recover  ?  I  have  heard 
no  news  of  the  dear  old  town,  but  of  you  I  heard  long 
ago,  and  it  made  my  heart  as  light  as  a  bird  mounting 
up  to  the  sky.  Perhaps  it  will  please  even  your  gentle 
heart  to  know  that  Black  Feather,  the  treacherous  In 
dian  chief,  is  dead.  You  see,  I  hardly  knew  which 
direction  to  take  and  went  wrong  several  times.  Then 
I  heard  Elk  Horn  had  sold  some  female  captives  to 
Black  Feather,  who  had  taken  them  up  the  Illinois 
River.  When  I  reached  an  encampment  where  there 
had  been  a  terrific  storm  I  heard  Black  Feather  had 
been  seriously  injured  and  had  finally  been  moved  to 
an  interior  encampment,  where  there  was  a  medicine 
man.  .So,  after  a  search,  I  found  them.  In  spite  of 
the  medicine  man  the  chief  had  died,  and  they  had 
given  him  a  grand  funeral.  His  followers  had  dis 
persed.  But  I  was  told  that,  after  the  storm,  some 
captives  had  escaped  and  he  had  been  so  angry  he  had 
two  Indians  put  to  death.  So  then  I  retraced  my  steps. 
Many  a  time  I  wondered  if  I  should  find  you  in  the  for 
ests,  dead  from  hunger  and  fatigue.  Whether  you  had 
gone  down  the  river — but  you  could  not  do  that,  unless 
some  friendly  boat  had  offered.  I  passed  some  lodges 
where  they  had  not  known  of  any  wanderers,  and  at 
last  met  two  Peoria  Indians,  who  said  the  three  es 
caped  captives  had  reached  them  and  been  taken  to  St. 
Louis." 

He  pressed  the  child  closer,  looked  down  in  the  fond, 
eager  eyes  that  were  shaded  in  a  mist  of  emotion,  and 
felt  the  eager  grasp  of  the  small  hand.  How  much  she 
cared,  this  motherless  and  well-nigh  fatherless  girl. 

"It  was  Wawataysee  they  wanted,  but  your  fate 
might  have  been  as  bad.  They  might  have  left  you 
somewhere  to  starve — "  Yet  did  not  the  pretty 


i?2       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

child's  face  give  evidence  of  coming  beauty?  only  to 
an  Indian  this  was  not  the  rich,  appealing  beauty  of 
his  own  tribes.  And  the  present  was  so  much  to  the 
red  man,  the  triumphs,  satisfactions,  joys  and  revenges 
of  to-day. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  long,  quivering  breath,  "I  am 
so  glad !  so  glad !  It  runs  all  over  me,"  and  she  laughed 
softly.  "And  you  will  never  go  away  again?  They 
are  building  the  wall  all  around  the  town  and  putting 
sharp-pointed  sticks  through  the  top.  The  children 
do  not  go  out  on  the  prairies  any  more;  they  are 
afraid." 

"I  do  not  think  we  are  in  much  danger.  Farther 
to  the  east  the  Indians  are  joining  tribes,  stirred  up  by 
the  English  fighting  the  colonists.  But  we  have  noth 
ing  to  do  with  their  quarrels.  And  this  attack  was  a 
mortification  to  them.  Few,  if  any,  of  our  friendly 
Indians  were  concerned  in  it.  Oh,  little  one,  thank 
God  that  you  and  Wawataysee  are  safe." 

"But  M.  Marchand  thanks  God  for  Wawataysee!" 
she  said,  with  a  touch  of  resentment. 

He  smiled  at  that.  When  she  was  older  she  would 
demand  every  thought  of  one's  heart. 

"Shall  we  go  down  now?" 

"Mere  Lunde  will  be  so  glad."  She  arose  and  hopped 
gleefully  on  one  foot,  holding  his  hand  as  she  went  part 
of  the  way  around  him.  The  last  rays  of  golden  light 
in  the  sky  made  bewildering  shadows  and  gleams  about 
her  and  she  looked  like  a  fairy  sprite. 

The  town  was  already  lapsing  into  quiet.  No  one 
had  need  to  grumble  at  the  length  of  working  days  in 
this  pastoral  town  and  time.  Others  had  come  in  from 
journeys,  and  in  more  than  one  home  feasting  had  be 
gun.  The  boats  had  been  fastened  securely,  the  river 


HER   ANSWER  173 

was  growing  dark  with  shadows,  and  purple  and  gold 
clouds  were  drifting  across  the  heavens. 

''Let  us  go  this  way,"  Renee  said. 

This  way  was  up  to  the  Rue  de  1'Eglise,  and  she 
turned  into  that.  Here  and  there  a  friend  caught  his 
hand  and  he  had  to  pause  for  a  few  words  of  cordial 
welcome. 

"What  now,  little  one?"  as  she  drew  him  aside. 

She  looked  up  with  a  sweetly  serious  expression, 
though  a  flush  of  half-embarrassment  wavered  over  the 
small  face. 

"I  went  to  church  every  afternoon  to  say  a  prayer 
for  you  that  you  might  come  home.  I  thought  the 
good  God  would  rather  hear  it  in  His  own  house — " 

"Did  you,  my  little  darling?"  he  exclaimed,  deeply 
touched. 

"And  now" — she  hesitated — "I  think  I  ought  to  go 
and  thank  Him.  Men  do  that  when  the  Governor 
grants  their  wishes." 

"Yes,  yes !    And  I  will  go,  too." 

Ah !  there  was  much  to  be  thankful  for,  and  he  felt  a 
little  conscience-smitten  that  he  had  not  made  more  of 
a  point  of  it. 

.  The  church  was  quite  dark,  with  a  candle  burning 
on  each  side  of  the  high  altar.  She  led  him  clear  up  to 
the  chancel  steps,  and  there  they  knelt  together.  The 
little  girl  might  not  have  understood  all  the  fine  points 
of  belief  that  the  world  had  fought  over  since  Christ 
had  died  for  all,  and  was  still  warring  about,  but  her 
gratitude  was  sincere  and  earnest  if  not  spiritual,  at 
least  in  a  devout  spirit. 

Gaspard  Denys  was  moved  by  something  he  had 
never  experienced  before,  and  touched  by  the  child's 
tender,  fervent  faith. 


174       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

Coming  out,  they  met  old  Pere  Rierceraux,  leaning 
on  his  cane.  He  had  been  godfather  to  little  Mary 
Pion,  the  first  child  baptised  by  Father  Meurin  when 
there  had  been  no  church  at  all  and  only  a  tent  in  the 
woods.  The  rude  little  building  was  a  temple  to  him, 
and  thither  he  came  every  night  to  see  that  no  harm 
was  likely  to  befall  it,  and  commend  it  to  the  watch 
ful  care  of  God. 

"It  is  Gaspard  Denys!"  he  said  in  a  voice  a  little 
broken  by  the  weight  of  years.  "So  thou  hast  come 
home  from  perils  and  hast  devotion  enough  to  thank 
God  and  the  saints  for  it.  There  will  be  merry  hearts 
to-night,  quite  unmindful  of  this.  Ma'm'selle,  I  have 
noted  thy  devoutness  also.  The  Holy  Mother  have 
thee  in  her  keeping." 

It  was  quite  dusk  now  and  the  houses  were  lighted 
up.  At  the  Pichous'  they  were  playing  already  on  the 
fiddles.  Then  there  was  this  turn. 

The  good  news  had  preceded  Denys.  The  house 
hold  had  come  out  to  meet  him  and  there  was  great  joy. 
Mere  Lunde  had  already  set  a  little  feast,  and  they 
wondered  at  the  loitering. 

There  had  never  been  any  welcome  like  this  in  his 
life  before,  no  one  to  be  greatly  glad  when  he  came  or 
sorrowful  when  he  went.  It  was  like  a  new  life,  and 
his  heart  expanded,  his  pulses  thrilled  with  a  fervent 
joy.  The  beautiful  Indian  wife  who  smiled  at  him 
and  then  turned  her  eyes  to  her  husband  with  an  ex 
quisite  tenderness;  the  little  girl  whose  gladness  was 
so  true  and  deep  that  her  eyes  had  the  soft  lustre  of 
tears  now  and  then,  and  smiles  that  went  to  his  heart ; 
Mere  Lunde's  happy,  wrinkled  old  face,  in  her  best  coif 
and  kerchief;  and  presently,  neighbors  coming  in  with 


HER   ANSWER  175 

joyous  greetings.  For  in  those  days  they  shared  each 
other's  joys  and  sorrows. 

The  remembrance  of  the  cruel  May  day  vanished. 
Flowers  were  growing  over  the  graves  of  the  dead  in 
the  little  churchyard.  Many  of  the  captives  had  found 
their  way  back;  some,  indeed,  lay  in  silent  places  far 
from  kindred.  They  did  not  forget,  but  they  were  a 
light-hearted  people,  and  their  religion  was  not  of  the 
morbid,  disquieting  kind.  Conscience  with  them  had 
a  few  salient  points  of  right  and  wrong,  the  rest  did  not 
touch  their  simple  lives. 

There  was  a  gay  autumn,  with  wine-making  and 
brewing  of  spiced  or  plain  beer,  of  meat  and  fish  salted 
and  dried,  of  corn  gathered  and  wheat  ground  and  the 
thrifty  preparations  for  winter.  All  the  meadow  lands 
were  abloom  with  autumnal  flowers,  the  trees  were 
gorgeous  in  all  the  coloring  sun  and  winds  and  dew 
could  devise,  and  the  haze  of  the  resplendent  Indian 
summer  hung  over  it  all.  There  were  nutting  parties 
to  the  woods,  but  they  were  cautious  and  went  well  pro 
tected. 

Trappers  and  traders  came  in.  and  the  talk  was  of  wil 
derness  trails  and  Indian  villages  friendly  and  unfriend 
ly,  of  deer  and  mink  and  otter  and  beaver,  sable,  mar 
ten  and  beautiful  fox  and  wolfskins  from  the  far  north. 
Many  of  the  fleets  went  straight  down  the  river  to  New 
Orleans,  others  came  up  from  there  with  beads  and 
gewgaws  and  spun  silk  and  threads  of  various  colors, 
calicoes  and  blankets  and  coarse  thick  stuffs  for  tents. 
There  was  much  dickering,  great  supplies  of  arms 
and  ammunitions,  and  then  the  crowd  melted  away  and 
only  familiar  faces  were  seen  again.  The  country 
round  about  put  on  its  white  coverlet  of  snow  to  keep 


176       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

warm  the  little  earth  children,  streams  and  ponds  were 
frozen  over  and  all  was  merriment  again. 

Francois  Marchand  and  his  pretty  wife  set  up  a 
home  of  their  own  only  a  short  distance  away,  but  busi 
ness  had  increased  so  much  that  it  needed  the  attention 
of  both.  Next  year  they  would  buy  some  boats  or  have 
them  built,  and  do  some  trading  up  and  down  the  river. 

Andre  Valbonais  was  much  pleased  with  his  new 
home  and  the  cordiality  of  his  relatives.  He  soon  at 
tracted  the  attention  of  Colonel  Chouteau,  for  he  had 
considerable  education,  and  was  put  in  a  clerkship, 
which  gratified  him  extremely.  But  he  often  ran  up 
to  the  Rue  de  Rive  to  chat  with  Denys  and  Marchand 
over  their  adventures,  and  to  watch  the  pretty,  dark- 
eyed  girl  who  always  sat  so  close  to  her  uncle  and  held 
his  hand. 

And  then  came  the  winter  gayeties.  Throngs  of 
children  went  out  on  the  great  mound  when  the  snow 
had  a  crust  on  it,  and  the  girls,  gathering  up  their 
skirts,  squatted  down  and  were  given  a  little  push,  and 
away  they  went,  swift  as  an  arrow.  One  would  tumble 
over  and  roll  down  to  the  bottom,  throwing  about  nu 
merous  little  fleets,  but  they  were  so  well  wrapped  in 
furs  no  one  was  ever  hurt.  The  great  achievement 
was  to  spin  the  whole  length  without  a  break. 

It  was  merry  again  at  Christmastide,  and  Renee  en 
joyed  it  much  more  than  last  year ;  but  there  was  a  ten 
der  devoutness  in  her  worship.  Then  the  great  Feast 
of  Lights,  Epiphany  and  all  the  fun  and  frolic.  Andre 
was  chosen  a  king  by  one  of  the  pretty  girls.  He 
was  a  fine  dancer  and  a  very  good-looking  young  fel 
low. 

Perhaps  it  made  Renee  more  light-hearted  to  know 
that  Barbe  had  a  real  lover,  and  that  he  hardly  allowed 


HER   ANSWER  177 

her  to  smile  at  any  one  else.  She  was  not  quite  be 
trothed  as  yet,  but  there  could  be  no  objections.  He 
belonged  to  a  good  New  Orleans  family,  and  was  in  a 
trading  house  second  only  to  the  Chouteaus'.  All  the 
Guions  said  it  would  be  an  excellent  match,  and  Barbe 
was  plenty  old  enough  to  marry.  Bachelor  girls  had 
not  come  in  fashion,  and  when  one  had  passed  twenty 
the  younger  girls  really  flouted  her  and  thought  she 
ought  to  step  in  the  background. 

She  danced  once  with  Gaspard  Denys.  No,  he  had 
never  been  a  real  lover.  But  if  he  had  not  gone  to 
Quebec  after  this  little  girl — well,  all  things  might  have 
been  different.  And  as  well  Jean  Gardepier  as  any 
one.  She  would  go  to  New  Orleans  with  him  when 
he  went  down  on  trading  expeditions,  and  the  gayety 
would  delight  her.  She  would  have  some  fine  clothes 
and  jewels,  still  she  sighed  a  little  when  Denys  took  her 
back  to  her  sister. 

"And  here  is  Elise  the  second,"  said  Madame  Re- 
naud  gayly.  "See  what  a  tall  girl  she  has  grown.  You 
must  dance  once  with  her.  Oh,  how  soon  they  are 
women,  and  then  it  is  lovers  and  husbands.  Gaspard, 
are  you  going  to  stay  single  forever?"  and  Madame 
laughed  softly. 

"I'm  such  an  old  fellow  now !  I  feel  like  a  grand 
father  to  these  young  girls,"  he  returned  jocosely. 

But  Elise  thought  him  charming,  and  in  her  turn 
almost  envied  Renee. 

Years  unmarked  by  any  special  events  pass  on  al 
most  unheeded.  Trade  came  and  went.  A  few  new 
houses  were  built.  Young  people  were  married,  new 
children  were  born.  Families  came  from  across  the 
river,  not  liking  their  English  neighbors  over  well. 
Occasionally  there  was  an  Indian  alarm,  but  St.  Louis 


178     A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

had  the  good  fortune  to  live  mostly  at  peace  with  her 
red  neighbors,  while  many  of  the  Illinois  towns  suf 
fered  severely. 

One  of  the  events  of  the  summer  that  delighted 
Renee  was  the  birth  of  Wawataysee's  baby.  It  was  a 
great  marvel  to  her,  though  there  were  plenty  of  ba 
bies  about.  It  was  more  French  than  Indian.  It  had 
beautiful  large  dark  eyes  and  was  a  very  fine  specimen 
of  babyhood.  It  was  named  for  Uncle  Gaspard,  who 
was  its  godfather,  and  Wawataysee  pleaded  that  Renee 
should  be  godmother. 

"For  you  are  the  two  people  I  love  best  after  my  hus 
band,"  said  the  Indian  woman  proudly.  "You  are  like 
a  little  sister." 

Renee  was  very  glad  to  be  that  now.  She  was  learn 
ing  to  rejoice  in  the  happiness  of  others. 

Then  Barbe  Guion  had  a  very  pretty  wedding,  and 
the  boat  in  which  she  was  going  to  New  Orleans  was 
trimmed  with  flags.  It  was  a  long  journey  then,  some 
times  a  dangerous  one;  less  so  at  this  season.  And 
Barbe  might  be  gone  a  whole  year.  There  was  a  great 
turnout  to  wish  her  godspeed.  She  looked  very  bright 
and  happy  in  her  wedding  gear. 

Renee  took  Uncle  Gaspard's  hand  and  glanced  up  in 
his  face,  which  was  rather  grave. 

"Are  you  sorry  ?"  she  asked. 

"Sorry?  What  a  question,  child!  Why  should  I 
be  sorry?" 

"She  loved  you  very  much,"  was  the  answer,  in  a 
low  tone. 

"Nonsense !  I  am  old  enough  to  be  her  father.  And 
Barbe  married  of  her  own  free  will." 

"I  wish  you  had  been  my  true  father,"  Renee  sub 
joined  gravely.  And  strange  to  say,  she  pitied  Barbe 


HER   ANSWER  179 

in  her  secret  heart,  yet  she  was  glad  she  had  gone  so 
far  away. 

Renee  went  now  and  then  to  see  her  grandfather.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  grew  older  and  thinner  and  more  mo 
rose,  yet  her  sympathy  went  out  to  him  curiously.  She 
had  heard  the  talk  that  he  was  suspected  of  being  in 
league  with  the  river  pirates  and  supplying  the  Indians 
with  rum,  which  was  against  the  laws.  One  ship  had 
been  caught,  the  pirates  overmastered,  four  of  them 
sent  to  New  Orleans  in  irons,  and  two  had  been 
wounded  and  drowned  in  an  attempt  to  swim  away. 
She  felt  a  good  deal  troubled.  He  would  not  talk  of 
the  affair  when  she  mentioned  it. 

''But  you  are  so  lonely  here  outside  the  palisade. 
Why  do  you  not  come  in?"  she  inquired. 

"It  suits  me  well  enough,"  he  answered  roughly.  "I 
did  not  ask  you  to  stay  here.  And  you  need  not  come 
for  my  pleasure." 

"But  if  the  Indians  should  attack  you  some 
time?" 

"Bah !  The  Indians  know  me  better,"  with  a  scowl 
of  disdain. 

"Is  Antoine  Freneau  my  grandfather  really?"  she 
asked  that  evening  as  she  sat  in  the  moonlight  with 
Denys. 

"Why,  yes,"  in  amaze  at  her  question. 

"Then  it  would  be  wicked  not  to — to  have  some  re 
gard  for  him,"  she  remarked  unwillingly. 

Gaspard  did  not  answer  at  once.  Antoine  had 
dropped  down  year  by  year.  He  had  not  always  been 
so  churlish,  though  his  discourteous,  hermit-like  ways 
were  of  long  standing.  He  had  never  doubted  but 
that  he  had  been  the  father  of  the  girl  he  loved,  yet  she 
had  come  up  as  a  lily  out  of  a  quagmire.  But  how 


i8o        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

could  Renee  respect  or  regard  him?  And  how  little 
he  cared  for  her ! 

"That's  a  difficult  question.  We  shall  have  to  ask 
the  good  pere  some  day.  He  understands  these  mat 
ters." 

"But — I  belong  to  you,  surely?" 

"You  belong  to  me!"  He  clasped  her  hand  fer 
vently. 

"And  I  shall  always  stay  here?" 

"Always,  until  some  young  lover  comes;"  but  he 
drew  her  closer,  as  if  he  disputed  her  being  taken  away. 

"You  shall  be  my  lover,"  with  a  gay  laugh.  "If  ever 
I  draw  a  bean  at  the  king's  ball  you  shall  be  my  king." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

PASSING   YEARS. 

RENEE  DE  LONGUEVILLE  was  fifteen  and  very  fair  to 
look  upon,  if  not  as  beautiful  as  Madame  Marchand, 
or  perhaps  as  some  of  the  belles  of  the  town.  She 
was  slight  and  not  very  tall,  and  her  hair  had  not 
grown  much  darker.  Her  eyes  kept  their  soft  won 
dering  expression,  sometimes  a  curious  depth  that  told 
of  vehement  emotions,  ardent  joys  and  a  capacity  for 
suffering.  But  most  people  looking  at  the  gay  young 
face  when  it  smiled  would  only  have  read  archness  and 
mirth  and  a  great  capacity  for  enjoyment. 

Some  curious  events  had  been  happening.  The  colo 
nies  had  beaten  England  and  won  their  freedom,  their 
recognition.  From  the  Atlantic  Ocean  to  the  Mis 
sissippi  River  it  was  all  America.  This  side  of  the 
river  it  was  Spain  still,  a  kind  of  French  Spain.  Com 
mandant  Cruzat  was  well-liked  and  very  social.  Ma 
dame  was  charming.  There  were  balls  at  the  Govern 
ment  House  and  at  the  handsome  old  Chouteau  resi 
dence,  that  had  been  improved  year  by  year.  A  long 
gallery  ran  around  two  sides  above  the  first  story,  and 
it  made  a  delightful  place  for  dancers.  The  roof  was 
high,  with  both  ends  cut  off  as  it  were,  broken  by  two 
chimneys  and  two  dormer  windows.  Downstairs  a 
broad  piazza  also,  and  here  the  gentlemen  would  sit 
and  smoke  and  discuss  business  and  the  changes  that 
were  going  on  around  them,  while  within,  Madame 
Chouteau  dispensed  charming  hospitality. 


1 82        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

St.  Louis  was  still  in  an  idyllic  state,  gay,  joyous, 
friendly  and  hospitable,  with  much  simplicity  of  living. 
Others  besides  the  Chouteaus  had  enlarged  their  bor 
ders.  Gaspard  Denys  had  built  two  rooms  and  raised 
the  roof  of  his  house  so  as  to  make  a  storeroom  and 
one  little  chamber,  where  Chloe,  the  slave,  slept.  Mere 
Lunde  still  took  charge  of  the  house,  but  Denys  in 
sisted  she  should  have  some  help,  and  then  no  ques 
tion  was  made  of  buying  one.  They  were  well  treated 
and  had  good  homes,  and  were  not  overworked. 

One  of  the  new  rooms  was  Uncle  Gaspard's,  the 
other  Renee's,  while  her  old  one  was  transferred  to 
Mere  Lunde,  who  at  first  thought  she  could  never  sleep 
on  a  bedstead.  And  Renee's  room  was  quite  a  marvel 
of  prettiness.  Great  strips  of  white  birch  bark  on 
which  dainty  pictures  were  worked  went  from  floor  to 
ceiling,  while  between  was  soft  gray  plaster.  Some 
times  this  was  stained  in  various  colors.  Then  there 
were  shelves  about  on  which  were  displayed  odd  bits 
of  Indian  work — a  bowl,  a  vase,  or  a  pretty  basket. 
Many  of  these  came  from  Mattawissa's  hands  and  not 
a  few  from  Wawataysee's. 

Now  Madame  Marchand  had  a  dainty  little  girl, 
christened  Renee.  Her  gracious  air,  her  refinement 
and  beauty,  and  her  romantic  story  as  well,  had  made 
her  many  friends,  and  M.  Marchand  was  one  of  the 
thriving  business  men,  very  much  honored  and  re 
spected.  Not  infrequently  he  and  Gaspard  were 
called  into  council  on  some  important  question. 

And  though  the  palisades  and  gates  and  towers  were 
still  looked  upon  as  a  means  of  defence,  the  inhabitants 
ventured  to  enlarge  their  borders  without.  Several 
bands  of  friendly  Indians  had  settled  toward  the  north 
ern  and  western  ends.  Parties  no  longer  hesitated  to 


PASSING  YEARS  183 

wander  through  the  woods,  and  the  children  often 
went  out  to  pick  wild  strawberries  that  grew  so  plen 
tifully  all  about.  Then  there  were  grapes  and  a 
delicious  kind  of  wild  plum,  pears  and  apples,  and 
melons  cultivated  in  the  gardens,  with  various  small 
fruits. 

Renee  de  Longueville  had  come  in  possession  of 
quite  a  fortune ;  at  least,  Uncle  Gaspard  held  it  in  trust 
for  her.  And  it  made  her  quite  a  person  of  conse 
quence. 

Antoine  Freneau  had  grown  really  afraid  to  carry 
on  his  illicit  trade  after  the  capture  of  the  Red  Rover. 
She  had  stores  for  him,  and  for  weeks  he  trembled 
when  he  saw  two  or  three  men  approaching  his  cabin. 
He  was  old  and  he  resolved  he  would  do  no  more  at 
it.  This  he  tried  to  explain  to  those  who  came  for  a 
supply.  True,  he  brought  up  his  whiskey  and  sold 
it  as  long  as  it  lasted,  but  unfortunately  the  Indians 
used  to  securing  their  indulgence  in  that  manner  would 
not  believe  it.  They  brought  furs,  often  stolen  from 
the  traders,  and  insisted  that  he  should  exchange. 
They  always  came  after  nightfall,  and  sped  away  again 
in  the  dark. 

Angry  at  length  at  their  repeated  efforts,  he  would 
not  open  his  door.  The  bar  within  was  very  strong 
and  he  felt  himself  secure.  But  the  old  stanchion  had 
decayed  at  the  ground  point,  and  one  night  it  gave 
way  at  their  united  efforts. 

Antoine  found  himself  defenceless  against  the  angry 
mob.  They  bound  him  and  began  to  ransack  the  place. 
Bringing  to  light  one  jug  of  whiskey,  they  were  con 
fident  there  was  more.  They  searched  every  corner, 
every  nook,  but  in  vain.  And  then  they  fell  upon  the 
old  man,  beat  him  and  tortured  him  until  he  was  limp 


1 84      A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

and  lifeless  they  thought,  when,  taking  a  pack  of  the 
most  valuable  furs,  they  decamped. 

It  was  not  until  noon  of  the  next  day  that  some  one 
in  passing  noted  the  unusual  appearance  and  halted  at 
the  cabin.  The  old  man  lay  on  the  floor.  He  had 
revived  from  unconsciousness,  but  his  hands  were  se 
curely  fastened  behind  him,  his  face  was  bruised  and 
swollen  and  everything  in  disorder.  He  gave  the  alarm 
and  some  kindly  neighbors  came  to  his  assistance.  Then 
another  went  for  Gaspard  Denys. 

Perhaps  nothing  could  have  happened  that  would 
have  rehabilitated  Antoine  Freneau  in  the  pity  and 
good  will  of  his  fellow-men  sooner.  Unsocial  and  un 
der  suspicion  for  years,  asking  and  taking  nothing  from 
them,  seldom  giving  them  a  good  word,  his  helpless 
ness  appealed  now  to  their  sympathy.  Gaspard  had 
his  wounds  and  bruises  attended  to,  the  house  made 
a  little  orderly,  and  found  a  slave  woman  who  would 
care  for  him.  That  he  had  been  robbed  was  evident. 
Even  the  puncheon  floor  had  been  torn  up,  and  dis 
closed  a  sort  of  pit  in  which  something  had  evidently 
been  stored. 

Old  Doctor  Montcrevier  came,  but  he  shook  his  head 
doubtfully.  The  old  man  breathed  and  occasionally 
opened  heavy,  wandering  eyes.  But  on  the  third  day 
he  rallied. 

"Gaspard  Denys!"  he  moaned.  "Send — tell  him," 
and  then  he  lapsed  away  again. 

Denys  came  and  watched  with  him  through  the 
night.  Several  times  his  name  escaped  the  old  man's 
lips.  Gaspard  gave  him  some  brandy  he  had  brought. 

He  opened  his  eyes  again  and  gazed  around  piteous- 
ly,  resting  them  finally  upon  Gaspard. 

"I  cannot  think,"  rubbing  his  forehead  in  a  dazed 


PASSING  YEARS  185 

fashion.  "They  were  Indians.  They  wanted  rum.  I 
had  none,  only  one  jug  I  kept  in  case — in  case  I  should 
need  it.  I  am  an  old  man,  Gaspard.  They — they  beat 
me." 

"Yes.  Can  you  tell  who  they  were?  No  strange 
Indians  have  been  seen  about." 

Even  here  the  old  man's  cunning  came  uppermost. 
He  would  not  betray  himself.  He  shook"  his  head 
slowly. 

"Some  marauding  parties.    Perhaps  from  the  river." 

"The  river!  See  if  they  are  coming!"  starting  up 
in  affright. 

"No  one  is  coming,"  in  a  reassuring  tone. 

"Gaspard,  am  I  hurt  much  ?  Oh,  help  me !  I  do  not 
want  to  die.  I  hate  death !  I  want  to  live ;"  and  he 
tried  to  raise  himself,  but  fell  back  exhausted. 

"Would  you  like  to  have  the  priest?"  Gaspard  could 
think  of  no  other  aid  in  this  extremity. 

"No !  no !  I  will  not  die !  They  come  to  your  death 
bed.  Stay  with  me  yourself." 

"What  can  I  do?"' 

He  was  silent  a  long  while.  His  breath  came  slowly 
and  with  effort,  and  shudders  ran  over  him. 

"Renee,"  he  said  presently.  "You  have  the  child, 
Gaspard  ?" 

"Yes ;  you  gave  her  to  me." 

"If  you  had  died — your  money " 

"I  had  made  a  will.  Everything  would  have  gone 
to  her." 

"That  was  right — right.  Gaspard,  there  is  some 
gold — is  any  one  listening?"  moving  his  eyes  in  a 
frightened  way. 

"No,  no!" 

"There  is  some  gold  and  silver  put  away.     You 


1 86       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

might  better  take  it.  Thieves  may  come  again.  Carry 
me  to  the  chimney." 

He  was  a  heavy  burden.  Gaspard  put  him  down  on 
some  blankets. 

"See!  Count  the  stones.  The  third  stone."  The 
eyes  were  wild  in  their  eagerness. 

"This !"  pointing.     "Take  it  out." 

Gaspard  worked  with  both  strength  and  energy.  It 
was  fitted  in  very  securely,  but  it  gave  way  at  length. 

"The  next  one." 

When  that  came  out  a  small  iron  box  was  visible, 
and  Gaspard  worked  it  loose. 

"Take  it  with  you.  It  will  be  hers  when  I  die. 
There  is  no  one  else.  But  not  until — I  have  the  key — 
and — but  I  am  not  going  to  die !"  with  fierce  energy. 

"No,  no,"  soothingly.  "Take  a  little  of  this  cor 
dial." 

But  the  signs  of  death  were  there  and  Gaspard 
read  them  truly.  Could  he  warn?  That  was  for  the 
priest. 

"You  are  very  good."  His  voice  was  much  shaken, 
and  shadows  seemed  to  waver  over  his  eyes.  "And  I 
was  not  good  to  you,  Gaspard  Denys,  in  that  old  time. 
You  were  but  a  boy.  You  had  your  fortune  to  make. 
She  loved  you  and  I  meant  to  wean  her  away — and — I 
did  not  want  her  to  know  how  I  was — trading.  The 
Count  fell  in  love  with  her,  though  when  the  matter 
was  most  settled  he  wrung  a  dowry  out  of  me,  curse 
him !  But  she  was  a  Countess.  And  he  should  have 
kept  the  child.  What  did  he  mean  by  sending  her 
here?" 

He  had  made  many  pauses  and  now  lay  back  ex 
hausted,  his  face  growing  grayer,  Gaspard  roused 
the  nurse, 


PASSING  YEARS  187 

"Go  up  to  the  church,"  he  said,  "the  priest's  house, 
and  bring  some  one.  Quick !  The  man  is  dying." 

It  was  some  time  before  he  roused  again. 

"Renee,"  he  murmured,  "you  will  be  a  great  lady  in 
France.  Your  mother's  mother  was,  and  fled  away 
because  a  king  loved  her.  A  king!"  He  laughed 
shrilly  and  a  rattle  came  in  his  throat.  "And  you  must 
go  back  to  them,  to  your  own  kind.  This  wild  life  is 
not  for  you.  As  for  that  young  stripling,  he  is  dancing 
at  the  Guinolee  and  singing  love  songs  to  pretty  girls. 
Thou  art  not  the  only  pretty  girl  in  St.  Louis, 
Renee " 

Then  there  was  a  long  silence.  Once  or  twice  Gas- 
pard  thought  him  dead,  but  he  started  and  muttered 
both  French  and  Indian  words.  It  was  near  midnight 
when  the  good  father  came,  and  he  shook  his  head 
sadly. 

Gaspard  roused  Antoine  a  little. 

"I  fear  it  is  too  late,"  in  a  regretful  tone,  while  a 
look  of  pity  crossed  his  face.  "Still  we  must  try  to 
the  last  moment.  Antoine  Freneau,  it  is  I,  Pere  Le- 
moine.  Listen !  Death  is  near.  Dost  thou  repent  of 
thy  sins,  which  have  been  many,  doubtless,  hidden  from 
man  but  not  escaping  the  eye  of  God  ?  There  may  yet 
be  mercy  vouchsafed." 

The  dying  man  clutched  the  blanket  and  stared  dully, 
yet  he  seemed  to  listen. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes!"  he  cried  suddenly.  "At  St.  Anne's 
down  the  river.  Yes,  we  both  confessed " 

Whether  he  understood  any  of  the  service  was  doubt 
ful,  but  the  good  priest  did  his  duty  according  to  his 
conscience  and  the  times.  But  before  he  had  ended 
the  last  prayer  both  knew  he  was  dead,  and  had  passed 
without  a  struggle. 


i  88       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"I  will  stay  the  rest  of  the  night  with  you,"  said  the 
priest.  "And  since  you  have  the  child,  I  suppose  you 
will  be  the  proper  person  to  take  charge.  It  is  sup 
posed  the  old  man  had  not  a  little  wealth — if  the  ma 
rauders  did  not  take  it  all  away." 

The  woman  came  in  to  prepare  the  body.  Round 
the  old  man's  neck  was  a  strong  bit  of  wire  like  cord, 
and  a  key.  Gaspard  took  this.  It  fitted  the  box. 

After  daylight  they  took  a  survey  of  the  place.  There 
were  some  firearms  stored  away,  blankets,  furs  that 
were  motheaten  and  of  little  value,  some  Indian  ha 
biliments  ;  but  it  was  evident  the  place  had  been  pretty 
thoroughly  ransacked. 

So  they  buried  Antoine  Freneau,  and  for  some  days 
it  was  the  sensation  of  the  little  town.  Gaspard  Denys 
now  took  the  formal  guardianship  of  Renee  de  Longue- 
ville.  He  had  the  record  of  her  mother's  marriage,  her 
birth  and  christening.  Some  of  the  goods  were  worth 
saving,  the  others  were  distributed  among  the  poorest 
of  the  Indians  about. 

In  an  old  chest  of  curious  workmanship  Gaspard 
found  a  false  bottom.  In  this  compartment  were  some 
laces  and  embroideries,  a  wedding  veil  that  Renee's 
grandmother  had  doubtless  worn,  the  certificate  of  her 
marriage  to  Antoine  Freneau  and  considerable  valu 
able  jewelry,  with  some  unset  stones.  And  when  they 
examined  the  strong  box  it  proved  an  unexpected  for 
tune  for  Renee  de  Longueville. 

Then  the  old  house  was  suffered  to  go  to  ruin.  Some 
Indians  went  there  for  shelter,  but  soon  left.  They 
had  been  roused  at  midnight  by  unearthly  noises  and 
seen  the  figure  of  old  Freneau  in  its  grave-clothes;  so 
the  story  gained  credence  that  the  place  was  haunted. 
Even  after  it  had  fallen  into  an  unsightly  heap  the  mys- 


PASSING  YEARS  189 

terious  noises  were  heard  and  no  one  would  pass  it 
after  nightfall. 

Renee  was  very  much  shocked  at  first.  She  had 
not  loved  her  grandfather,  but  there  had  always  been  a 
curious  pity  in  her  tender  soul  for  him  in  what  she 
considered  his  loneliness.  She  went  in  the  church  and 
prayed  for  his  soul,  for  she  knew  God  was  merciful. 
Had  He  not  watched  over  Uncle  Gaspard  and  sent  him 
safely  home? 

And  now  Renee  de  Longueville  was  quite  an  heir 
ess  and  had  some  really  beautiful  heirloom  jewels,  be 
sides  the  laces  and  the  exquisite  veil.  Her  grandmoth 
er's  people  must  have  been  of  some  account.  But  no 
one  would  have  imagined  Antoine  Freneau  a  handsome 
or  attractive  young  man,  and  a  favorite  among  the 
pretty  girls  of  Old  New  Orleans.  The  miser-like  pro 
pensities  had  grown  with  the  years,  and  he  had  found, 
he  thought,  an  easy  way  of  making  money  by  being 
in  league  with  the  river  pirates  on  the  one  hand  and 
roving  bands  of  Indians  on  the  other.  He  had  skil 
fully  evaded  detection  if  not  always  suspicion,  and  now 
that  he  had  suffered  almost  martyrdom  in  the  end,  the 
generous,  cordial  people  were  not  the  kind  to  fling  up 
these  vague  accusations. 

So  the  sorrow  was  over  and  it  was  winter  again,  full 
of  merriment  and  gayety,  and  lovers  wooing  young 
girls.  Elise  Renaud  had  been  married  and  Sophie  was 
quite  a  belle.  Rosalie  Pichou  was  the  mother  of  two 
babies  and  had  a  comfortable  home,  though  her  hus 
band  traded  with  New  Orleans  and  was  often  gone 
months  at  a  time.  They  had  to  guard  against  the  river 
pirates,  who  frequently  sallied  out  from  some  peaceful- 
looking  covert,  hidden  by  woods  or  a  bend  in  the 
stream.  Occasionally  there  were  Indians  lying  in  wait, 


190       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

but  the  men  always  went  well  armed,  and  generally  in 
quite  a  fleet,  with  the  goods,  the  wheat  and  corn 
in  barges  or  flat-bottomed  boats,  with  several  canoes 
for  swiftness  if  they  saw  a  chance  of  chastising  their 
enemies.  It  was  comparatively  easy  to  go  down  the 
river,  and  as  each  boat  had  a  mast  and  sails,  they  sped 
along  beautifully  in  a  favorable  win'd.  But  coming 
back  was  generally  the  trial,  as  the  tide  was  against 
them.  Sometimes  two  boatmen  would  walk  along 
the  river  bank  and  pull  a  rope  like  the  later  towing 
line,  while  those  on  the  boat  steered  and  with  long  poles 
kept  the  prow  from  running  into  the  bank  and  avoided 
the  snags. 

But  before  Christmas  all  the  boats  that  were  expected 
had  come  in ;  the  others  would  remain  at  New  Orleans 
until  more  favorable  weather.  And  this  year  there 
was  to  be  a  grand  ball  at  the  Government  House  before 
the  king's  ball  took  place,  for  in  the  last  trip  up  the 
river  several  young  men  had  arrived.  One  was  to  be 
secretary  to  the  Commandant.  Two  were  on  their  way 
to  Canada  and  would  start  when  the  spring  opened. 

Sophie  Renaud  had  run  in,  full  of  the  news. 

"And  you  have  so  many  pretty  things  to  wear !"  she 
cried  half  enviously.  "Your  uncle  always  seems  to 
know,  while  you  might  as  well  ask  a  stick  as  to  ask 
my  father  to  bring  you  home  anything  worth  while. 
And  the  pretty  frock  Aunt  Barbe  sent  me  last  summer 
is  all  in  shreds.  Ma  mere  declares  I  ought  to  have 
fawnskin,  like  an  Indian  girl.  And  did  you  see  Ma 
dame  Marchand's  lovely  feather  cape  on  Sunday?  It 
has  a  row  of  bluebird  feathers  around  it  that  are  daz 
zling." 

Yes,  Renee  had  seen  the  cape  often  while  it  was  be 
ing  made.  Three  years  it  had  taken  Wawataysee 


PASSING  YEARS  191 

to  collect  the  feathers.  She  had  so  many  beautiful 
ideas. 

"It  would  set  me  crazy  to  do  such  a  thing !" 

Renee  laughed.  Sophie  always  flew  from  one  point 
to  another,  and  delighted  in  attire. 

"Wawataysee  is  coming  to  see  what  will  be  most 
suitable,"  returned  Renee. 

"And  shall  I  have  to  wear  the  old  white  silk  Cousin 
Guion  gave  me?  It  has  been  washed,  but  mother  has 
pressed  it  like  new.  And  one  of  the  young  men  is  very 
handsome.  I  saw  him  as  I  passed  the  court-house. 
Laflamme  I  believe  he  is  called,  and  I  predict  he  will 
set  all  the  girls'  hearts  in  a  flame  if  he  dances  anything 
as  he  looks.  I  hope  we  all  get  a  chance.  And  oh, 
what  fun  the  king's  ball  will  be!  I  just  hope  I  shall 
be  a  queen !" 

Renee  tossed  her  pretty  head.  For  the  girls  in  those 
days  gossiped  pretty  much  as  they  do  now,  and  were 
just  as  eager  for  pleasure. 

Andre  Valbonais  dropped  in  as  he  often  did.  He 
was  a  great  favorite,  and  now  that  he  was  doing  so 
well  under  the  very  eyes  of  M.  Chouteau,  he  could  af 
ford  to  have  a  steady  sweetheart.  Early  marriages 
were  much  in  vogue,  and  though  a  dot  was  very  good, 
many  a  nice  girl  was  married  with  only  some  house 
hold  articles  and  bedding. 

Truth  to  tell,  Andre  had  been  very  much  captivated 
with  Madame  Marchand.  Her  bravery  through  those 
wearisome  days  and  nights  of  the  return,  her  sweet 
ness  and  patience  with  the  little  one,  had  made  her  an 
angel  to  be  adored.  M.  Marchand's  gratitude  knew 
no  bounds ;  indeed,  he  had  been  treated  with  brotherly 
affection  by  them  both.  Suddenly  his  eyes  had  been 
opened.  It  was  an  insult  to  any  sweet,  honorable 


192       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

woman  to  covet  her,  especially  when  she  loved  her 
husband  as  Wawataysee  did.  And  Andre  struggled 
to  cast  the  sin  out  of  his  heart.  She  never  even  dreamed 
of  such  a  thing,  and  for  worlds  he  would  not  have  in 
curred  her  displeasure. 

But  this  it  was  that  had  made  him  care  less  for  the 
young  girls  about.  He  could  not  offer  any  of  them  a 
heart  that  was  half  another's. 

So  in  a  certain  fashion  he  had  been  devoted  to  Renee 
because  she  was  such  a  child,  and  there  was  no  danger 
he  believed. 

"There  will  be  a  great  time,  I  suppose,  at  the  ball," 
he  said,  sitting  by  the  splendid  log  fire  at  Gaspard 
Denys'.  One  of  my  cousins  is  to  dance  with  the  new 
Secretary,  Monsieur  Rive.  He  came  to  the  mill  with 
the  Governor." 

M.  Cruzat  was  often  styled  that,  but  the  real  Gov 
ernor  of  all  Louisiana  had  his  capital  at  New  Orleans. 
This  was  the  Lieutenant. 

"And  is  he  very  handsome?" 

"Oh,  good-looking  enough,"  indifferently.  "M.  La- 
flamme  will  take  the  winning  card.  Renee,  do  not  get  a 
heartbreak  over  him.  Take  warning." 

"I  shall  not  get  a  heartbreak  over  anybody,"  with  a 
saucy  smile. 

"Ah,  your  time  has  not  yet  come!"  blowing  out 
wreaths  of  delicate  smoke. 

"Andre,  I  want  you  to  dance  the  first  dance  with 
me." 

"I  am  at  your  service,  ma'm'selle.  But  three  new 
young  men  and  a  pretty  girl — you  do  me  great  honor," 
and  he  made  a  bow,  with  an  odd,  amused  smile. 

"Do  you  suppose  I  am  going  to  stand  around  and 
cast  wistful  eyes  at  these  strangers?"  she  cried  with 


PASSING  YEARS  193 

pretty,  mock  indignation.  "And  I  shall  be  in  the  very 
first  dance,  too." 

"I  am  made  supremely  happy,  ma'm'selle." 

"And  if  there  is  any — if  you  see  me  looking — well, 
disconsolate,  you  will  ask  me  again." 

There  was  a  charming  imperiousness  in  her  tone. 

"I  will  obey,  ma'm'selle,  with  great  delight." 

"And— Andre,  who  will  be  the  prettiest  girl  there?" 

"Merci !  Little  one,  how  can  I  make  a  choice?" 

"I  will  tell  you:  Lucie  Aubry,  and  she  will  dance 
with  the  Secretary  the  first  thing." 

"Lucie  Aubry  has  not  all  the  beauty  of  St.  Louis." 

"Oh,  if  she  had,  what  would  be  left  for  us?"  and 
Renee  made  a  mirthfully  despairing  face. 

"You  need  not  feel  alarmed." 

"Oh,  I  don't,"  with  enchanting  gayety.  "In  the  first 
place,  I  am  not  tall  enough,  not  grand  enough.  Then 
my  hair  should  be  raven  black,  and  it  is  such  a  funny 
no-color." 

"It  is  very  handsome,"  he  replied  decidedly.  "Some 
times  in  the  sun  it  looks  as  if  it  had  gold  dust  sprinkled 
over  it.  And  then  I've  seen  it  look  as  if  the  top  of 
every  wave  was  touched  with  silver." 

"That  is  very  beautiful,  Andre.  I  will  try  to  recall 
the  compliment  when  it  looks  to  me  like  a  gray-brown. 
And  my  nose,  see " 

"Ma'm'selle,  you  wrinkle  it  up  and  it  makes  you  look 
piquant,  saucy.  You  couldn't  make  it  bad  if  you  tried." 

"Oh,  yes !  Look !"  She  put  her  finger  to  the  tip  of 
it  and  gave  it  a  tiny  hitch  and  then  laughed. 

"That  shows  your  curved  lips  and  your  lovely  teeth. 
Even  that  wouldn't  make  you  a  fright." 

"Oh,  Andre,  how  good  and  comforting  you  are !  But 
Wawataysee,  with  her  little  Indian  blood,  is  a  hun- 


194        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

dred  times  handsomer.  Only — I  am  very  glad  I  suit 
you  and  Uncle  Gaspard.  He  thinks  I  grow  like  my 
mother.'' 

She  had  been  half-dancing  round  the  room  in  the 
blaze  of  the  logs.  Families  often  kept  no  other  light. 
Now  she  came  and  sat  down  opposite  him,  demure  as  a 
nun.  She  had  so  many  fascinating,  changeful  ways. 
He  had  always  considered  her  a  child,  but  now  she 
was  a  charming  young  girl.  This  was  one  of  the 
places  where  Valbonais  felt  entirely  at  home,  because 
there  was  no  danger  of  being  misinterpreted  by  any 
watchful  mamma.  He  was  not  quite  ready  to  marry. 

Denys  came  in  and  pushed  his  seat  near  Renee,  who 
leaned  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  Now  the  golden 
lights  shone  in  her  hair — not  yellow-gold,  but  the 
richer,  deeper  color — and  a  soft  rose  tint  played  over 
her  cheek,  while  her  mouth  dimpled  at  the  corners  as 
if  she  was  amused  at  something.  There  would  not 
be  many  prettier  girls  at  the  ball,  Valbonais  thought. 

Wawataysee  looked  over  the  "treasures"  that  one 
way  and  another  had  come  into  the  possession  of  Gas 
pard  Denys.  True,  it  was  a  kind  of  idyllic  time  in  the 
history  of  the  town,  so  far  as  regarded  society.  Some 
of  the  families  had  a  gown  or  a  mantilla  of  lace  and 
fringe  that  had  been  handed  down,  voyaged  from  Can 
ada,  or  more  directly  from  France  and  New  Orleans. 
Such  articles  were  only  taken  out  on  great  occasions,  a 
few  times  in  the  year.  But  the  woman  in  plain  attire 
had  just  as  delightful  a  time  if  she  was  vivacious  and 
sparkling  and  a  good  dancer. 

For  this  was  the  chief  amusement  of  the  women. 
The  men  had  their  shooting  matches,  not  only  as  a  pas 
time  but  a  good  practice,  where  to  be  an  excellent 
marksman  was  often  a  protection  against  Indians ;  but 


PASSING  YEARS  195 

the  hunts  served  to  provide  much  of  the  family  living. 
Many  of  these  people  had  come  of  the  better  class  peas 
ant  stock,  who  from  time  immemorial  had  danced  on 
the  greensward  on  fete  days,  and  not  infrequently  on 
Sunday  afternoon,  their  only  holidays. 

There  were  no  theatres,  few  books,  and  many  of  the 
elder  people  read  with  so  much  difficulty  that  they  lost 
interest  in  it.  Oftener  legends  and  family  stories  were 
told  over  on  summer  evenings  when  old  and  young  sat 
out  in  the  moonlight,  ate  little  spiced  cakes  and  drank 
birch  beer. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

AT  THE  BALL. 

WAWATAYSEE  fashioned  a  frock  for  Renee  out  of 
some  silvery  threaded  stuff  that  had  soft  blue  disks 
here  and  there,  looking  almost  like  bits  of  fur.  Round 
the  shoulders  was  a  band  of  blue  feathers  from  jay  and 
marten  and  bluebird,  skilfully  arranged  on  a  strip  of 
cloth.  Her  full,  girlish  throat  and  arms  were  bare  ex 
cept  for  some  bracelets  and  a  string  of  pearls.  Her 
hair  was  gathered  up  in  a  great  knot  on  top  of  her  head 
and  fastened  with  a  silver  comb  set  with  jewels.  When 
she  entered  the  ballroom  leaning  on  her  uncle's  arm 
half  the  assemblage  turned  to  look  at  her. 

The  largest  space  in  the  Government  House  had  been 
cleared  for  dancing.  There  were  smaller  connecting 
rooms,  and  all  had  been  trimmed  with  evergreens.  The 
warmth  brought  out  their  pungent  fragrance.  Here 
a  cluster  of  scarlet  berries,  there  a  branch  of  brown-red 
oak,  a  handful  of  yellow  hickory  leaves  bunched  like  a 
sunflower.  Here  was  the  Commandant,  M.  Cruzat, 
and  his  staff,  with  their  military  accoutrements  much 
tarnished  by  wear,  and  the  soldiers  at  the  fort  who 
had  worn  out  those  kept  some  little  shred,  perhaps  the 
old  buttons,  to  indicate  their  standing.  But  the  young 
men  were  in  noticeably  fresh  array. 

Madame  Cruzat  and  the  elegant  Madame  Chouteau 
were  on  the  other  side  with  several  ladies,  bowing  and 
smiling  and  making  a  place  for  some  of  the  elders. 
Around  the  room  were  ranged  seats  of  rough  boards 


AT  THE  BALL  197 

covered  with  blankets.  In  one  of  the  smaller  apart 
ments  was  the  band,  though  it  was  composed  mostly  of 
violins. 

The  elders  were  to  have  the  upper  end  of  the  room 
in  the  Court  minuet,  the  younger  people  next  and  in  the 
adjoining  rooms.  M.  Laflamme,  a  distinguished-look 
ing  young  man  with  an  air  of  what  we  should  call  soci 
ety,  spoke  to  a  lady  standing  near,  who  brought  him 
over  to  Mademoiselle  de  Longueville.  And  at  that  in 
stant  Valbonais  approached  smiling  and  extending  his 
hand. 

She  listened  to  the  request  with  the  most  dainty  mod 
esty.  "I  regret,  monsieur,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone, 
"but  it  is  a  previous  engagement."  And  now  Lucie 
Aubry  might  have  the  pleasure  in  welcome.  She 
would  not  throw  over  an  old  friend  for  a  new  ac 
quaintance.  She  held  her  head  up  very  proudly  and 
danced  the  minuet  as  if  she  had  been  a  queen. 

After  that  the  real  pleasure  began.  Old  and  young, 
with  little  formality,  yet  with  the  kind  of  breeding 
the  French  never  forgot,  and  took  into  the  forests  with 
them.  Andre  need  not  have  watched  for  Renee's  half 
warning.  If  she  could  have  danced  with  three  in  the 
same  set,  she  had  the  opportunity. 

M.  Laflamme  was  a  little  piqued,  but  he  captured  her 
at  last. 

"Ma'm'selle,"  in  a  pause,  "you  are  a  true  French 
girl,  name  and  all.  You  might  have  come  from  Paris." 

"As  I  did  once  upon  a  time,"  smiling  out  of  bewitch 
ing  eyes. 

"Ah !     Can  you  remember?" 

"I  was  there  but  one  day.  At  the  house  of  rny 
father.  A  little  child,  eight  years  or  so." 

"Not  the  Count  de  Longueville?" 


198        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.   LOUIS 

"The  Count  de  Longueville.  At  least,  one  Count. 
There  may  be  many,"  she  replied,  with  drooping,  mis 
chievous  eyes. 

"But — he  has  a  wife  and  two  sons,  the  one  I  mean." 

"My  own  mother  died,"  and  the  grave  tone  was  ten 
derly  sweet.  "I  hardly  knew  her.  Then  I  was  sent 
to  her  people,  my  grandfather  here  at  St.  Louis." 

"Not — oh,  no,  not  Monsieur  Denys !" 

"He  is  not  old  enough,"  she  replied,  with  a  touch  of 
vexation.  "No.  And  now  that  relative  is  dead.  Mon 
sieur,  tell  me  about  my  little  brothers." 

"I  never  saw  them,  but  know  there  are  two.  They 
are  away  somewhere  being  educated.  Madame  the 
Countess  is  at  court,  one  of  the  handsome  women  that 
swell  the  Queen's  train." 

A  sort  of  protest  sped  through  Renee's  pulses.  Her 
mother  was  lying  in  an  unheeded  grave.  She  remem 
bered  being  taken  to  it  several  times.  And  the  Count 
had  forgotten  about  her;  another  stood  in  her  place. 
They  two  were  gay  and  happy. 

"You  would  like  to  go  back  to  France  ?"  tentatively. 

"No,  monsieur,"  and  she  raised  her  pretty  head 
proudly.  "I  would  not  leave  Uncle  Denys  for  all 
France  has  to  offer,"  in  a  clear,  decisive  tone. 

"You  rate  him  very  highly.  I  almost  envy  him, 
ma'm'selle,"  bowing  very  low.  "There  is  another 
dance " 

Uncle  Denys  brought  up  Monsieur  Rive,  who  had 
been  merely  presented  to  her  in  the  early  part  of  the 
evening,  and  he  begged  for  the  pleasure  of  dancing 
with  her. 

"I  thought  you  were  engaged,"  said  Laflamme  in  a 
quick  tone  to  Renee. 
"J  did  not  say  so,  monsieur,"  she  replied  in  a  low 


AT  THE  BALL  199 

tone.  "But  it  is  not  considered  best  to  dance  right 
along  with  one  person.  I  do  not  quite  know  the 
fashion  of  courts,"  raising  demure,  but  fascinating 
eyes. 

"She  would  do  for  a  court,"  he  ruminated. 

Renee  meanwhile  swam  away  like  a  graceful  bird 
in  a  maze  of  sunshine.  M.  Rive  was  delighted.  He 
had  been  dancing  with  Madame  Aubry,  who  had  grown 
rather  stout,  and  Madame  Garis,  who  was  always  a 
little  stiff,  as  she  had  descended  on  both  sides  from  no 
bility,  though  it  was  long  ago ;  but  she  desired  to  keep 
up  a  certain  state.  The  mothers  expected  to  have  the 
young  men  pay  them  the  compliment  of  at  least  one 
dance. 

But  what  grace  and  elegance  this  young  creature 
possessed!  And  the  pretty,  flower-like  face  was  en 
chanting  in  its  enjoyment. 

"Do  you  often  have  such  balls  as  this?"  he  asked 
presently.  "I  was  quite  averse  to  coming  to  St.  Louis, 
but  I  hardly  dared  decline  the  appointment.  I  thought 
you — "  and  he  paused. 

"Well,  what  did  you  think,  monsieur?"  with  an  arch 
look  and  in  a  merry  voice.  "That  we  were  part  Indian 
and  lived  in  wigwams  ?" 

"Oh,  no !"  coloring.  "But  we  are  quite  gay  at  New 
Orleans.  There  are  many  Spanish  people,  and  the  cre- 
ole  women  are  very  beautiful  and  exquisite  dancers, 
though  they  seem  a  race  quite  by  themselves.  And 
we  have  a  theatre.  You  see,  it  is  the  great  port.  So 
much  trade  comes  to  us — the  vessels  from  Europe,  and 
from  some  of  the  cities  in  the  colonies  that  have  so 
lately  gained  their  independence." 

"I  shall  go  to  New  Orleans  some  time.  My  uncle 
has  promised  me.  In  the  summer,  perhaps." 


200       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Oh,  not  next  summer!" 

"Why  not?"  with  a  dainty  toss  of  the  head. 

"Because  I  am  to  stay  here  a  year  whether  or  no." 

"Monsieur,"  with  gay  audacity,  "I  believe  your  busi 
ness  has  something  to  do  with  writing  letters  and  keep 
ing  accounts.  I  cannot  help  you  there,  so  it  could 
make  but  little  difference." 

"But  we  shall  have  the  winter.  What  is  this  I  hear 
about  the  king's  ball  ?  Or  is  it  a  series  of  balls  ?" 

"Oh,  monsieur,  that  is  a  delight !"  She  gave  a  brief 
description  of  it.  "And  there  are  four  queens.  Each 
chooses  a  king." 

"I  hope  you  will  be  a  queen.  But  to  have  your  high 
honor  depend  on  so  great  a  chance  seems  rather  dis 
couraging." 

"Still,  the  king  may  choose  you  next  time.  Then  it 
doesn't  always  depend  upon  a  bean,"  laughing  with  gay 
softness. 

"What  an  odd  plan!  Ma'm'selle,  I  hope  I  may  be 
a  king.  I  never  thought  of  such  an  honor  before. 
And  I  have  chosen  my  queen  already." 

The  violins  dragged  out  a  last  slow  note.  The  fid 
dlers  had  not  learned  to  blow  it  out  with  a  sort  of 
ecstasy.  Then  Andre  Valbonais  came,  for  the  next 
dance  was  his  and  he  was  very  glad.  If  there  was  such 
a  thing  as  an  especial  belle  of  the  evening,  it  was  Renee 
de  Longueville.  These  new  gay  fellows  must  not 
crowd  him  out,  he  resolved. 

There  was  a  promenade  after  that.  Renee  fell  out 
of  the  ranks  and  insisted  upon  sitting  down  a  few  min 
utes. 

"Go  and  find  Sophie  Renaud  for  me,"  she  said  to 
Andre  in  a  dainty  tone  of  command. 

"And  leave  you  here  alone  ?" 


AT  THE  BALL  201 

"I  am  going  to  crawl  in  this  corner  and  rest  a  bit. 
And  I  wonder  where  Uncle  Denys  is?" 

"He  has  been  talking  to  the  Governor.  M.  Cruzat 
is  not  above  listening  to  the  needs  of  the  people.  There 
are  to  be  improvements  along  the  levee." 

She  waved  her  hand  in  dismissal.  Then  she  won 
dered,  with  a  bit  of  feminine  inconsistency,  who  would 
be  first  to  find  her  out.  This  would  be  a  lovely  corner 
for  a  chat. 

A  voice  caught  her  ear. .  She  heard  her  name  men 
tioned  in  a  complimentary  manner. 

"She  is  very  well  born.  Although  you  do  not  seem 
to  make  much  of  that  here." 

That  was  Monsieur  Laflamme's  peculiarly  cultivated 
accent. 

"Yes,  on  the  one  side.  The  other,  her  grandfather — 
well,  no  one  is  quite  certain.  But  he  left  her  a  fortune 
and  some  handsome  jewels.  How  he  obtained  both  no 
one  really  knows." 

"I  suppose  many  things  have  to  be  condoned  in  this 
new  country.  In  fact,  they  have  to  be  in  most  places," 
laughing  ironically.  "The  world  is  quite  turned  upside 
down,  but  money  is  on  the  top  everywhere.  And  the 
uncle,  he  has  several  interests  I  have  heard.  He  has 
no  family." 

"He  is  not  a  real  relative,  but  a  sort  of  godfather  or 
guardian.  She  is  like  a  child  to  him.  There  is  a  story 
that  he  was  in  love  with  her  mother  when  they  were 
children.  Besides  his  trading  business  he  has  an  in 
terest  in  the  lead  mines.  And  it  is  said  there  are  some 
wonderful  discoveries  of  salt  that  hunters  have  found. 
We  shall  distance  you  more  southern  people  some  day." 

"Then  M.  Denys  is  one  of  your  prosperous  citi 
zens?" 


202       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Oh,  yes,  monsieur !     We  are  proud  of  him." 
"And  the  young  lady  will  be  his  heiress?" 
"Most  likely.      It  is  hardly  probable  that  he  will 
marry  now.      Monsieur  Laflamme,  if  you  are  looking 
for  a  wife  with  a  comfortable  dot,  here  is  your  oppor 
tunity.     A  pretty  girl,  too.     Well  spoiled ;  but  a  hus 
band,  if  he  has  any  sense,  soon  trains  a  girl  aright  when 
she  is  young." 

Madame  Aubry  laughed  with  an  inflection  of  satis 
faction.  French  mothers  seem  matchmakers  by  in 
stinct.  She  had  informed  herself  about  the  newcomers. 
The  two  travellers  were  men  of  no  especial  fortunes, 
and  though  she  was  pleased  to  have  Lucie  dance  with 
them,  she  had  other  views  for  her  daughter,  who  would 
have  no  great  dowry.  Genevieve  had  a  pretty  home 
near  by,  and  she  did  not  want  Lucie  to  go  away.  She 
had  her  eye  on  a  very  well-to-do  person  who  had  al 
ready  made  the  proper  advances  to  her.  She  could 
afford  to  be  generous  with  her  neighbors'  maids. 

Renee  sprang  up  suddenly,  her  face  aflush  with  an 
ger.  That  any  one  would  consider  her  fortune  made 
her  indignant.  She  had  some  fanciful  ideas  of  love, 
gleaned  largely  from  Wawataysee  and  her  husband, 
who  since  the  attack  on  St.  Louis  had  guarded  her  with 
the  utmost  devotion,  purchasing  a  strong,  burly  slave 
to  be  her  guard  and  to  watch  over  his  babies.  During 
his  two  journeys  North  she  had  lived  at  the  Denys's 
house.  There  had  been  other  love  matches  as  well, 
where  the  question  of  dowry  had  hardly  been  thought 
of,  though  every  mother  and  father  were  delighted  to 
have  a  hand  in  the  bride's  plenishing. 

She  almost  ran  into  M.  Rive.  Then  she  laughed  and 
drew  herself  up  with  a  gesture  of  half  dignity,  half 
amusement.  And  there  was  Sophie  Renaud  and  Val- 


AT  THE  BALL  203 

bonais,  who  looked  from  one  to  the  other  and  wondered 
why  Renee  had  sent  him  away.  He  fancied  he  read 
some  confusion  in  her  face. 

"The  gentlemen  are  invited  to  the  office,"  said  a 
servant.  "There  are  pipes  and  liquors  and  cards  for 
those  who  love  play.  The  ladies  will  be  refreshed  in 
the  anteroom,"  designating  the  corridor  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand. 

There  were  several  tables  spread  here  with  delica 
cies  that  it  was  supposed  men  cared  little  about.  Spiced 
wines  and  cordials,  fruit  dried  and  sugared,  dainty 
cakes  and  various  confections.  No  one  thought  of  a 
great  supper.  The  girls  crowded  by  themselves  and 
laughed  and  chatted,  counting  up  the  times  they  had 
danced  and  the  captures  they  had  made,  and  what  their 
real  lovers  had  said.  In  the  simplicity  of  their  enjoy 
ment  there  was  little  heart-burning. 

"Renee,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  group,  "we  shall  have 
to  look  out  for  ourselves !  Why,  you  have  only  been  a 
child  hitherto,  and  here  are  all  the  men  paying  court 
and  compliments  to  you!  However,  you  cannot  have 
my  Jean,  for  he  has  spoken  to  the  priest,  and  though 
maman  thinks  it  but  short  notice,  she  will  get  me 
ready." 

Rose  Boucher  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed, 
showing  her  pearly  teeth. 

"Oh,"  said  Renee  merrily,  "and  last  winter  we  had 
such  nice  times  skating  on  the  pond!  Now  you  will 
not  let  him  skate  with  us  or  help  us  up  the  mound  or 
anything !" 

The  tone  was  so  disconsolate  and  the  face  so  full  of 
mock  despair  that  it  was  amusing. 

"Not  I,  indeed !  You're  not  going  to  have  the  whole 
world,  Renee  de  Longueville,  if  you  have  a  rich  uncle 


204       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

and  have  danced  with  all  these  newcomers,  and  had  all 
the  room  looking  at  you  in  your  beautiful  gown  and 
your  high  comb.  Has  it  real  diamonds  ?  Dear  me !  It 
behooves  us  to  get  betrothed  as  soon  as  possible  when 
these  young  things  set  up  for  admirers." 

So  they  teased  her  good-humoredly  and  she  laughed 
in  return,  but  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  two  people  instead 
of  one — a  girl  enjoying  everything  and  a  woman  fear 
ing  some  things. 

But  presently  they  returned  to  the  dancing.  Mon 
sieur  Laflamme  sought  her  out  at  once.  Her  first  im 
pulse  was  to  decline  with  high  dignity,  then  a  gleam  of 
mirth  shone  in  her  eyes  and  she  accepted.  If  he 
wanted  to  begin  wooing,  let  him.  The  inborn  coquetry 
of  her  nature  rose  to  the  surface.  She  was  bright  with 
a  certain  childish  audacity  and  her  piquancy  attracted 
him.  If  he  chose  he  could  win  her  very  easily.  Peo 
ple  in  this  New  World  were  making  fortunes  readily, 
but  Paris  would  be  the  place  to  spend  them. 

Mothers  began  presently  to  gather  up  their  charges 
and  express  their  pleasure  to  Madame  Cruzat.  The 
fathers  had  a  touch  of  gallantry  as  well.  It  was  very 
gratifying  to  feel  that  the  Commandant  had  their  in 
terests  truly  at  heart  and  cared  for  the  town. 

Andre  Valbonais  came  to  find  Renee. 

"I  am  to  see  you  safe  home,"  he  said.  "M.  Denys  is 
wanted  in  a  little  council  they  are  having." 

The  girl  made  no  demur.  How  lovely  they  looked 
in  their  fur  hoods,  their  cheeks  still  rosy,  their  eyes 
bright,  their  chatter  full  of  joy.  Laflamme  studied 
them  and  wondered  who  Valbonais  could  be,  with  his 
unquestioning  authority. 

They  went  down  the  Rue  Royale  a  happy,  light- 
hearted  crowd,  crunching  the  snow  under  their  feet 


AT  THE   BALL  205 

and  looking  up  at  the  stars  that  seemed  to  shine  with 
unwonted  brilliance,  as  if  they  had  really  usurped  the 
place  of  the  moon.  And  here  was  the  Chouteau  house, 
a  great  white  mound,  the  dormer  windows  in  the  roof 
like  some  curious  eyes.  The  throng  thinned  out. 
Renee  and  Andre  turned  up  their  own  street. 

"And  did  you  like  those  newcomers  very  much?"  he 
began,  as  if  they  were  continuing  a  conversation. 

"They  were  nice  dancers — yes,  elegant  dancers." 

"They're  much  interested  in  the  king's  ball.  Renee, 
if  you  draw  a  bean,  who  shall  you  choose?" 

"Oh,  how  can  I  tell?     The  handsomest  man." 

"The  handsomest  are  not  always  the  worthiest." 

"That  sounds  like  a  grandam.  Why  should  one 
care  for  a  night  ?  One  dances  for  the  pleasure." 

"But  it  may  lead  to " 

"To  all  manner  of  ills,  such  as  falling  in  love.  I  sup 
pose  that  is  a  very  great  ill.  Were  you  ever  in  love, 
Andre?"  laughing  in  a  mocking  mood. 

"Oh,  with  you,  a  hundred  times !  Else  I  should  not 
be  so  ready  to  do  your  bidding." 

"But  with  any  one  else?" 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know  ?" 

"But  you  said  you  were  in  love  with  me."  Her 
tone  had  in  it  the  daintiest  bit  of  upbraiding. 

"Yes,  when  I  ran  away  with  you  and  Wawataysee. 
When  I  watched  over  you  day  and  night.  When  I  do 
your  bidding  now  as  if  I  was  your  slave." 

"There's  another  kind  of  love." 

"Ma'm'selle,  that's  too  sacred  to  talk  about  lightly." 

Dragon,  the  great  hound,  was  watching  at  the  gate. 
He  made  no  objection  when  Andre  opened  it,  but  he 
looked  up  and  down  the  street. 


206        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Your  master  will  come  presently.  He  is  all  right," 
said  Andre.  "Or,  if  you  like  to,  go  for  him." 

Dragon  signified  that  he  did.  Andre  opened  the 
door.  Mere  Lunde  was  asleep  in  her  chair.  She  had 
piled  several  logs  on  the  fire,  and  they  had  just  burst 
into  a  blaze  that  glorified  the  apartment.  Another 
hound  lay  half  asleep  in  the  warmth,  but  he  beat  his 
tail  to  let  them  know  that  he  heard. 

Renee  threw  off  her  wraps,  took  out  her  comb  and 
shook  her  hair  over  her  shoulders.  What  a  shining 
mass  it  was!  Her  eyes  were  softly  bright  in  their 
quartz-like  glow.  Andre  thought  she  had  not  looked 
as  beautiful  the  whole  evening,  and  he  was  glad  without 
knowing  just  why. 

"Good-night,"  he  said  abruptly.  "Friga  will  see 
that  no  harm  befalls  you." 

"Thank  you,  Andre,"  and  she  smiled  upon  him  with 
a  sweetness  that  he  took  outside  with  him. 

"She  will  be  a  flirt,"  he  said  to  himself.  "But,  after 
all,  she  is  only  a  child  and  she  doesn't  know  what 
deep,  heartfelt  love  is.  Heaven  keep  her  from  the 
knowledge  until  she  has  had  her  fling.  The  bright, 
winsome  things  have  the  most  power." 

Renee  was  standing  there  when  Uncle  Gaspard  came 
in.  He  put  his  arms  around  her  and  kissed  her  shining 
head  and  drooping  eyelids. 

"You  had  a  nice  time?" 

"It  was  splendid!"  in  a  joyous  tone. 

"I  like  that  young  Rive  very  much.  M.  Cruzat  is 
well  pleased  with  him.  Go  to  bed,  kitten." 

The  very  next  day,  when  a  company  were  out  skat 
ing,  M.  Laflamme  and  several  others  joined  the  party. 
If  Renee  had  been  lovely  in  her  dancing  gown,  she  was 
infinitely  more  bewitching  in  this  half  Indian  skating 


AT  THE  BALL  207 

attire.  Laflamme  had  made  some  farther  inquiries  this 
morning  and  found  Madame  Aubry  had  not  exagger 
ated.  He  had  been  something  of  a  spendthrift  and 
was  now  going-  to  Montreal  to  get  his  portion  of  a  fam 
ily  estate  that  had  fallen  in,  but  whether  it  could  be 
turned  speedily  to  money  was  rather  doubtful.  It  was 
a  long  journey,  he  learned,  and  though  he  had 
begun  it  with  a  spirit  of  adventure,  his  courage  in  the 
matter  was  rather  oozing  out.  What  if  he  stayed 
here  and  wooed  this  charming  girl  who  threw  him  a 
fascinating  smile  now  and  then,  and  knew  so  little  of 
the  world  that  she  could  easily  be  won?  The  jour 
ney  in  the  summer  would  be  more  agreeable,  and  with 
her  for  a  companion 

The  next  day  was  the  New  Year  and  the  fun  began 
early.  The  streets  were  musical  with  fiddles  and  songs. 
Lovers  had  puzzled  their  brains  for  pretty  rhymes,  and 
many,  it  must  be  confessed,  were  rather  lame;  but  the 
frosty  air  carried  the  melody,  and  no  one  was  over- 
critical. 

Renee  had  numberless  serenades  to  her  soft,  love- 
inspiring  eyes,  her  cheeks  that  would  make  roses  envi 
ous,  her  ripe  lips  where  kisses  blossomed,  her  shining 
hair  that  was  like  a  crown,  her  lithe  figure,  her  feet  that 
were  not  large  enough  to  make  a  print  in  the  snow. 

Gaspard  Denys  sat  one  side  of  the  broad  fireplace,  in 
the  glow  of  the  ruddy  flame,  and  listened  with  amuse 
ment.  The  year  before  he  had  gone  for  Renee  he 
had  joined  the  merry  throng.  Barbe  Guion  was  a 
pretty  young  girl,  and  the  Renauds  had  invited  him  in. 
And  somehow  no  one  ever  quite  knew  whether  Barbe 
was  happy  or  not.  The  first  time  her  husband  came  up 
with  the  boats  she  could  not  accompany  him  on  the  se 
vere  journey.  While  he  was  in  St.  Louis  her  little 


io8        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

boy  was  born  and  died.  Once  afterward  Gardepier 
had  taken  the  expedition,  but  Barbe  was  not  well  and 
had  sent  loving  messages;  was  very  happy  with  her 
little  daughter.  He  wondered  what  led  him  to  think 
of  her  this  night ! 

Renee  was  restless  as  a  bird.  She  listened  to  the 
singing.  There  was  one  very  musical  French  song  that 
was  not  as  fulsome  as  the  others,  and  she  wondered  a 
little  about  it.  Then  the  voices  in  chorus  cried  out: 
"Good-night,  master ;  may  good  luck  be  yours.  Good 
night,  young  mistress;  may  your  dreams  be  sweet  of 
your  true  love." 

Then  the  songs  were  heard  in  the  distance,  and  pres 
ently  Andre  Valbonais  came  in. 

"Did  you  hear  Laflamme?"  he  asked.  "He  and  Mo- 
nette  went  out  for  the  fun,  but  they  sang  some  beauti 
ful  songs.  M'sieu  Denys,  do  you  not  think  it  time 
some  of  this  foolishness  was  broken  up?  Not  that  I 
have  anything  against  serenading,  and  really  they  did 
finely  at  the  Commandant's.  But  the  soldiers  were 
out,  and  that  helped." 

"It's  an  old  habit.    And  the  young  fellows  enjoy  it." 

"Andre,  are  you  getting  too  old  for  fun?  Why,  I 
think  it's  quite  delightful.  I  was  sure  I  heard  a  new 
voice.  And  it  is  the  first  time  I  have  been  serenaded. 
Oh,  dear!  I  wonder  who  I  shall  dream  about?" 

Yes,  she  had  only  been  a  child;  now  she  was  a 
young  girl,  not  quite  a  woman,  a  gay,  wilful,  enchant 
ing  young  girl.  Did  Denys  know  it?  He  was  lazily 
stretched  out,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  gazing  at 
the  fire,  dreaming  of  long  ago,  and  Renee  Freneau,  of 
another  time  and  Barbe  Guion. 

Andre  gave  a  little  cough.  "Of  your  true  love,  ma'm'- 
selle." 


AT  THE   BALL 


209 


"There  are  so  many,"  with  a  laughable  assumption  of 
weariness.  "And  to  doubt  their  truth  would  be  cruel." 

"There  can  be  only  one  true  love." 

"But  each  serenader  thinks  his  the  true  one." 

He  had  not  joined  in  the  foolishness. 

"What  they  think  does  not  so  much  matter,  ma'm'- 
selle.  It  is  what  is  in  the  woman's  heart." 

"And  she  cannot  go  out  serenading  her  true  love." 

"Would  you  want  to,  ma'm'selle?" 

"I  should  like  to  find  out  who  he  was,"  and  she 
laughed. 

Denys  roused  himself  suddenly  and  began  to  talk 
business.  Andre  was  working  his  way  up  in  the  Chou- 
teau  mill  and  was  in  high  favor  with  its  owners.  What 
would  happen  when  the  spring  opened,  for  St.  Louis 
was  growing  to  be  a  larger  business  centre  ?  England, 
the  talk  was,  had  ceded  her  rights  to  the  river  and  all 
the  eastern  shore  to  the  new  colonial  government,  which 
would  make  fresh  treaties  with  Spain.  The  Ohio 
River  was  another  promising  branch.  In  fact,  every 
thing  seemed  tending  to  strange  and  uncertain  pros 
pects. 

Denys  would  have  been  more  than  amazed  if  a  vision 
of  fifty  years  later  had  crossed  his  brain  there  in  the 
firelight.  And  a  hundred  years — that  would  have  sent 
him  quite  crazy. 

But  the  king's  ball  was  the  next  thing.  They  were 
such  a  pleasure-loving  people  at  this  time ;  indeed,  the 
winters  would  have  been  very  dreary  without  the  pleas 
ure. 

So  the  merry  crowd  came  and  the  cake  was  made. 
Everybody  who  could  gathered  as  usual,  and  the  chil 
dren  added  zest  in  the  early  part  of  the  evening,  ex 
changing  their  gifts  and  eating  their  etrennes.  The 


zio        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

stately  dances  of  the  elder  people,  and  then  the  gavotte, 
the  airy  passe-pied,  and  afterward  the  merry  spinning 
round  in  all  kinds  of  fancy  steps,  in  which  some  of 
the  young  men  excelled. 

Then  twelve  boomed  out  and  one  of  the  matrons  cut 
the  cake,  another  dealt  out  the  pieces  just  as  they  came, 
so  there  should  be  no  favoritism.  Renee's  had  in  it 
no  bean — was  she  glad  or  sorry?  For  two  pairs  of 
eyes  watched  her  eagerly. 

"I  shall  have  to  wait  until  next  year !"  she  exclaimed, 
with  a  captivating  moue  of  disappointment. 

"Or  the  next  ball,"  said  Laflamme.  "I  hope  some 
one  will  take  pity  on  me.  I  should  like  a  taste  of  roy 
alty." 

Sure  enough  he  was  chosen.  Monsieur  Rive  as  well. 
Monette  had  been  tempted  by  a  hunting  expedition.  He 
was  not  so  fond  of  merriment,  and  had  left  a  sweetheart 
in  New  Orleans. 

Laflamme  was  rather  annoyed.  He  had  to  pay  his 
devotion  to  his  queen,  but  he  would  make  up  for  it  next 
time.  Andre  had  no  rival  to  fear  then,  though  Renee 
was  besieged  with  invitations. 

Yet  with  all  the  apparent  freedom,  a  young  man 
waited  to  be  asked  by  the  head  of  the  house  before  pre 
senting  himself  to  any  young  lady.  And  there  was  no 
madame  here  looking  out  that  this  rose  should  not  be 
left  on  the  household  stem. 

There  are  natures  that  opposition  whets  into  ardent 
desire,  and  Laflamme's  was  one  of  these.  He  had  be 
come  a  guest  at  Madame  Aubry's,  but  he  was  too  well 
bred  to  ask  so  great  a  favor  of  her  so  soon.  Yet  at 
the  night  of  the  second  ball  he  was  impatiently  wait 
ing.  As  Renee  emerged  from  the  dressing-room  he 
handed  her  the  bouquet,  and  she  accepted  it  with  a  smile, 


AT  THE  BALL  211 

but  she  was  a  little  vexed  at  heart.  She  would  rather 
have,  had  the  compliment  from  Monsieur  Rive,  but  she 
was  gratified  to  be  a  queen. 

For  somehow  her  heart  rather  misgave  her.  Out  on 
the  pond  skating,  or  in  the  merry  sledging  parties,  she 
had  managed  to  evade  any  special  overtures.  There 
were  other  young  men  who  considered  her  bright  and 
pretty,  but  to  them  she  was  still  an  eager,  rather  spoiled 
child,  hardly  to  be  considered  in  a  fair  field  for  winning, 
though  more  than  one  had  counted  up  her  possible  for 
tune.  There  was  another  virtue  among  these  simple 
people,  loyalty.  One  young  man  rarely  interfered 
with  another's  sweetheart.  A  peculiar  kind  of  consent 
had  given  her  to  Andre  Valbonais.  He  was  doing 
well,  a  steady  young  fellow  and  high  in  favor  with 
Pierre  Chouteau,  who  entrusted  a  great  deal  of  the 
business  to  his  care.  Then  he  was  in  and  out  at  Gas- 
pard  Denys',  as  no  young  man  would  be  unless  he  was 
willing  to  give  him  his  darling  Renee. 

Laflamme  danced  with  her,  and  the  grace  and  light 
ness  of  her  step  made  it  an  exquisite  pleasure.  He 
glanced  over  the  girls.  There  were  many  who  were 
pretty  with  the  charm  of  youth,  some  who  were  lovely 
with  the  finer  dowry  of  beauty,  that  wifehood  and 
motherhood  only  enhances.  A  few  generations  ago 
these  settlers,  many  of  them,  came  from  peasant  stock, 
and  at  least  on  one  side  she  had  fine  blood.  It  showed 
in  her  with  the  many  indescribable  points  that  he  could 
distinguish  readily.  Still,  he  would  not  have  taken  any 
woman  with  poverty  unless  it  were  some  court  favor 
ite  the  King  or  Queen  would  dower. 

True,  Gaspard  Denys  might  marry  and  raise  up  sons 
and  daughters,  but  he  would  make  sure  that  Renee  had 
her  porti'on  of  his  wealth.  And  although  this  was  a 


ziz       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

wild,  uncultivated  sort  of  life,  there  were  possibilities 
of  gain  in  it.  The  lead  mines  were  believed  to  be  in 
exhaustible,  though  the  method  of  working  them  was 
imperfect.  Denys  had  a  share  in  the  enterprise  and 
sometimes  spent  weeks  at  Fort  Chartres,  as  the  lead 
was  sent  from  there  to  New  Orleans.  At  such  times 
the  Marchands  came  over  to  stay,  or  Andre  Valbonais 
slept  in  the  house. 

Laflamme  had  enjoyed  his  bachelorhood  extremely, 
and  admitted  to  himself  it  would  be  a  bother  to  have  to 
think  about  a  wife.  But  if  his  Montreal  affairs  should 
prove  unsuccessful  it  might  be  a  most  excellent  thing 
to  have  a  dependence  to  fall  back  upon.  And  when  it 
came  to  that  he  would  not  be  really  compelled  to  take 
Renee  to  France;  he  would,  no  doubt,  return  to 
America. 

They  had  finished  their  dance,  but  M.  Laflamme  still 
kept  Renee's  hand  and  held  her  attention  by  some  amus 
ing  incidents  until  the  music  began  again.  Then  she 
was  fain  to  release  it.  No  one  had  asked  her  for  this 
dance — there  had  been  no  opportunity. 

"I  have  you,  little  prisoner,"  he  said,  with  a  mean 
ing  smile.  "Come,  this  is  too  delightful  to  forego." 

"No,  I  would  rather  not  dance,"  hesitatingly. 

"You  cannot  plead  fatigue,  since  you  have  only 
danced  once,"  he  declared  insistently. 

He  impelled  her  into  the  line  with  a  gentle  firmness 
she  could  not  resist,  though  every  line  of  her  face,  every 
pulse  in  her  body,  protested  against  it.  Two  dances  in 
succession  were  too  pronounced,  unless  one  was  be 
trothed  or  likely  to  be. 

In  spite  of  it  all  she  found  herself  whirling  about  the 
line,  in  a  keeper's  charge  she  felt.  The  young  men 
looked  rather  questioningly ;  the  girls  exchanged 


AT  THE  BALL  213 

glances,  the  elder  women  nodded,  as  if  this  set  the  seal 
to  their  surmises.  Renee's  face  was  scarlet  and  her 
eyes  downcast.  Would  it  never  come  to  an  end  ?  She 
was  growing  more  and  more  resentful,  indignant. 

"Now  we  will  take  a  turn  about " 

"Where  is  Elise?"  she  interrupted.  Elise  Renaud 
had  been  married  long  enough  to  play  chaperone.  Ma 
dame  Marchand  had  expected  to  attend,  but  in  the 
afternoon  one  of  the  babies  had  been  taken  ill.  And 
there  were  mothers  enough  to  watch  over  the  young 
girls. 

"No,  you  do  not  want  Elise,"  mimicking  her  tone  in 
a  soft,  yet  decisive  manner.  "And  I  want  you.  I  have 
something  to  say " 

"No!  no!"  she  cried  in  alarm,  wrenching  her  hand 
away,  and  she  would  have  fled,  but  she  almost  ran  into 
Andre  Valbonais's  arms. 

*'Oh,  keep  me !"  she  cried  under  her  breath.  "Take 
me  away — keep  me  from " 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  and  he  looked  from 
the  small,  trembling  figure  in  his  arms  to  Monsieur 
Laflamme. 

"Ma'm'selle  de  Longueville  had  a  turn — I  think  it 
was  the  heat — or,  perhaps  we  danced  too  hard.  You 
in  this  new  country  take  things  so  much  in  earnest. 
Then  we  came  out  here  for  a  breath  of  air.  She  is 
better  already.  She  is  my  queen  for  the  evening. 
Ma'm'selle,  when  you  are  ready  to  go  back " 

Laflamme  was  the  embodiment  of  gentleness  and  per 
fect  breeding,  and  as  he  gazed  tranquilly  at  Andre,  the 
young  man  felt  the  indescribable  difference,  and  withal 
a  certain  power  that  was  like  authority  over  Renee.  Oh, 
what  if — and  suddenly  Andre  Valbonais  knew  the 
child's  play ;  the  pretty  imperiousness  of  ownership  had 


214       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

a  deeper  meaning  for  him.  He  would  dispute  this 
man's  claim.  What  was  it  but  trifling  ?  The  two  men 
were  as  transient  guests  in  the  town.  They  would  go 
away  as  soon  as  the  spring  opened.  But  this  one  should 
not  trifle  with  little  Renee.  Ah !  he  did  not  look  like 
trifling.  The  resolution  in  his  face  startled  Andre. 

"Ma'm'selle  Renee,"  he  began,  "are  you 'ill?  Shall  I 
take  you  home?"  and  Andre's  eyes  questioned. 

There  was  an  ardent  pressure  on  the  small  hand  that 
said  authoritatively,  "Come!  come!"  It  roused  the 
spirit  of  wilfulness,  of  which  she  had  quite  too  much. 
And  what  was  there  to  be  afraid  of?  She  was  sud 
denly  courageous. 

"I  am  better  now,"  she  said.  "We  will  go  back.  But 
I  will  not  dance.  Monsieur  Laflamme,  choose  some 
other  partner.  One  does  not  dance  every  time,  even 
with  a  king.  We  rule  our  own  court  here  and  make 
our  own  laws.  And"  I  will  lend  the  fair  one  my  rose." 

She  took  Andre's  arm  and  smiled  up  in  the  other's 
face  with  the  most  provoking  nonchalance.  Laflamme 
gnawed  his  lip.  He  was  very  angry. 

"I  shall  not  consent  to  that.  I  am  not  so  easily  trans 
ferred,  ma'm'selle." 

"But  you  must  go  and  dance.  You  will  break  the 
circle.  Monsieur  Valbonais  and  I  will  look  on." 

She  turned,  her  head  held  up  haughtily.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  follow  or  make  a  scene,  which  was 
not  to  be  thought  of. 

"And  here  is  Lucie  Aubry,  the  most  queenlike  girl 
in  the  room.  You  two  look  splendid  on  the  floor. 
Ma'm'selle  Lucie,  will  you  take  my  rose?" 

"Ma'm'selle  Aubry  does  not  need  it.  May  I  have  the 
pleasure  ?"  Laflamme  placed  himself  between  the  two 
and  led  Lucie  away. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

GATHERING    THISTLES. 

"WHAT  happened?"  asked  Andre  abruptly.  "Were 
you  ill,  or — or  offended?" 

"I  was  dizzy  and  warm,  that  was  all." 

"Renee,"  he  began  presently,  "that  man  is  playing 
with  you.  He  is  endeavoring  to  win  your  affections, 
and  he  will  go  away  soon  and  you  will  be  left  to  get 
over  it  as  best  you  may." 

"Get  over  what?"  Her  look  and  tone  were  so  de 
mure,  so  innocent,  that  he  studied  her  in  amaze. 

"Why,"  with  some  embarrassment,  "if  you  care  for 
him — and  now  I  remember " 

A  definite  feeling  that  could  hardly  be  called  emotion 
swept  over  him.  And  he  knew  now  he  was  cherishing 
a  vague  dream  that  some  day  she  would  love  him. 

"Well,  what  is  it  you  remember?"  in  a  sweet,  half 
malicious,  half  mocking  tone. 

"He  has  been  with  you  a  great  deal  of  late.  On  the 
ice  and  at  sledging,  and  at  the  last  dance.  Men  of  his 
stamp  love  to  flirt  with  pretty  girls — yes,  love  to  win 
their  hearts  and  then  leave  them  in  the  lurch.  That  is 
what  he  is  doing.  He  is  not  in  earnest." 

That  vexed  her.  She  flushed  and  looked  prettier 
than  ever,  but  tormenting  as  well,  as  a  half-veiled  touch 
of  indignation  seemed  to  pass  from  her  shining  eyes. 

"As  if  I  cared !"  with  a  laugh  like  the  softest  ripple. 

"Then — you  do  not — love  him  ?" 

Andre's  voice  had  the  hoarseness  of  an  unspoken  fear 
in  it.  He  was  amazed  at  the  boldness  of  his  question. 


216       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Why  should  I  love  him?  Why  should  I  want  to 
go  away  from  this  dear  home,  from  Uncle  Gaspard?" 

''But  he  will  persuade  you " 

"Will  he?"  She  glanced  up  so  daring,  so  defiant  and 
resolute,  that  he  gave  a  happy  laugh. 

"That  is  right.  Oh,  Renee,  child,  do  not  let  any  one 
persuade  you!  You  are  too  young.  And  then,  by 
and  by — yes,  you  will  know  some  one  cares  for  you 
with  his  whole  soul,  will  lay  all  that  he  has  at  your 
feet " 

"He  had  better  not.  I  should  simply  dance  over  it. 
Now  let  us  go  back.  I  am  all  rested.  You  shall  have 
the  next  dance  with  me." 

Monsieur  Laflamme  made  no  movement  toward  her, 
but  seemed  quite  devoted  to  a  new  partner.  Did  he 
really  care  so  much?  Renee  felt  piqued  with  this  dis 
play  of  indifference.  This  dance  had  a  chain  of  per 
sons  going  in  and  out  and  turning  partners.  As  that 
gentleman  approached  she  gave  her  rose  a  caressing 
touch  and  glanced  up  with  eyes  so  alight  and  full  of 
beseechingness  that  he  pressed  her  hand  in  token  that 
all  was  peace  between  them,  and  her  wilful  heart  ex 
ulted. 

"My  charming  queen,"  he  said  in  an  appealing  tone, 
"may  I  come  back  to  my  rightful  place  and  sun  myself 
in  your  smiles?  Did  I  offend  you?" 

She  was  not  used  to  such  flowery  speech,  but  it 
sounded  delightful  to  her.  And  yet  it  did  not  seem 
quite  sincere.  But  she  waved  her  hand  playfully  to 
Andre  and  went  with  M.  Laflamme  to  the  head  of  the 
row  of  dancers.  It  was  hardly  likely  she  would  be 
queen  again  after  to-night. 

Andre  Valbonais  looked  on  puzzled,  confused.  He 
danced  with  several  other  girls,  he  chatted  with  the 


GATHERING  THISTLES  217 

mothers  and  fathers,  but  it  seemed  as  if  one  side  of  his 
nature  did  not  respond  to  anything.  It  was  so  curi 
ously  cold  that  the  smiles  Renee  lavished  on  every  one 
did  not  arouse  any  jealous  resentment.  It  was  like  an 
ice-bound  stream  that  would  awaken  presently;  the 
spring  sunshine  never  failed  to  burst  the  bounds. 

They  came  to  the  end  of  the  night's  pleasure.  Sev 
eral  lovers  were  glancing  at  each  other  with  confident, 
lingering  smiles  that  mothers  understood  and  did  not 
disapprove  of,  even  while  they  hurried  their  daughters 
away. 

"There  can  be  but  one  more  ball,  Lent  falls  so  early," 
said  some  one. 

"True.     Well,  let  us  make  it  on  Tuesday  night." 

"Oh,  you  forget !    That  is  the  masked  ball." 

"What  matter,  so  long  as  there  is  dancing  and  fun?" 

"But  we  are  not  all  allowed  at  the  masked  ball.  That 
is  more  for  the  older  people.  Oh,  I  hope  next  year  I 
shall  be  a  queen !" 

So  they  chatted  in  their  gay  youth.  Andre  fastened 
Renee's  fur  cloak  and  drew  the  hood  over  her  face. 
Had  she  ever  looked  so  sweet  and  bewildering  before? 
Monsieur  Laflamme  wished  her  good-night  and  happy 
dreams,  then  bending  low,  whispered : 

"But  they  must  be  of  me.     I  shall  dream  of  you." 

She  colored  vividly. 

The  quiet  streets  were  filled  with  echoes  of  talk.  Two 
or  three  dropped  out  here,  a  few  more  there.  Renee 
and  Andre  called  out  good-night  and  turned  in  their 
square. 

Gaspard  Denys  was  smoking  his  pipe  before  the 
cheerful  blazing  fire,  a  picture  of  comfort. 

"Oh,  you  lazy  uncle !"  Renee  cried,  but  her  voice  had 
gayety,  and  not  disappointment  in  it.  "You  did  not 


zi 8        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOblS 

come  to  see  me  as  the  queen.  And  I  may  never  be  that 
again." 

"A  queen  !     And  whose  queen,  pray  ?" 

"M.  Laflamme  chose  me.  And  M.  Rive  was  one  of 
the  kings.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  believe  I  like  him 
better.  And  he  looked  especially  well  to-night.  Why 
didn't  you  come  ?"  with  an  enchanting  pout  of  her  rosy 
lips. 

"I  had  a  long  list  of  accounts  to  go  over.  And  then, 
pretty  one,  you  had  Andre  to  bring  you  home.  Be 
sides,  I  am  growing  old  and,  like  Mere  Lunde,  love  the 
chimney  corner." 

"Oh,  you  are  not  old !  I  will  not  have  you  growing 
old.  Why,  the  fathers  with  their  grown-up  children 
were  there.  And  some  women  have  grandchildren. 
Good-night,  Andre,"  nodding  to  him. 

Andre  took  his  dismissal  cheerfully. 

Renee  crawled  in  Gaspard's  lap  and  put  her  soft 
arms  about  his  neck,  laid  her  cheek  to  his. 

"Oh,"  she  cried  in  a  tone  of  pathos,  "I  do  not  want 
you  ever  to  get  old !  You  are  just  right  now." 

"My  dear,  do  you  want  always  to  stay  fifteen  ?" 

"Yes,  I  should  be  glad  to.  Oh,  what  makes  the 
world  whirl  round  so!  And  I  shall  be  sixteen  in  the 
summer,  and  then — no,  I  won't  go  on.  Can't  you  take 
something,  do  something " 

"There  was  a  man  once  who  fell  asleep  and  slept  for 
years.  When  he  awoke  his  friends  were  dead,  or  had 
gone  away " 

"Oh,  hush !  hush !  I  do  not  mean  anything  so  dread 
ful  as  that,"  she  entreated. 

"Then  we  must  go  on  and  take  all  the  pleasure  we 
can  to-day,  or  to-night — though  I  believe  it  is  to-mor 
row  morning  now,  and  you  must  run  to  bed." 


GATHERING  THISTLES  219 

She  kissed  him  and  turned  slowly.  She  wanted 
to  ask  some  curious  questions,  but  they  were 
vague  and  would  not  readily  shape  themselves  into 
words. 

He  still  sat  and  thought.  Sixteen.  It  gave  him  an 
uneasy  feeling.  If  she  could  always  stay  a  little  girl! 
If  he  might  map  out  her  life !  Andre  Valbonais  had  the 
making  of  a  fine,  trusty  man,  a  good  business  man  as 
well.  If  he  could  come  here  as  a  son  of  the  house.  If 
they  three  could  go  on  together,  and  a  merry  throng  of 
children  grow  up  about  them ! 

The  dream  was  rudely  broken  to  fragments  the  next 
day.  The  young  man  of  six  or  seven  and  twenty  who 
stood  leaning  against  the  counter,  one  foot  half  crossed 
over  the  other,  with  an  easy,  gentlemanly  air  that  be 
tokened  training  beyond  what  the  average  habitant  of 
the  new  countries  acquired,  was  well  calculated  to  win 
a  woman's  heart,  a  girl's  heart,  perhaps  too  easily 
caught,  satisfied  with  the  outward  indications  of  man 
liness.  Gaspard  Denys  could  not  quite  tell  why,  but  in 
his  heart  he  did  not  altogether  approve  of  this  fine  gen 
tlemen,  for  all  his  good  looks,  his  well-modulated  voice 
and  excellent  breeding. 

And  he  had  asked  him  for  the  pride  of  his  eye,  the 
idol  of  his  heart,  the  dearest  thing  on  earth,  to  take  her 
away  for  years,  perhaps  forever,  and  leave  him  to  the 
loneliness  of  old  age!  And,  monstrous  thought,  he 
was  persuaded  that  Renee  would  love  him  when  he  had 
spoken.  He  had  seen  indications  of  it.  Last  evening 
he  had  startled  her  by  some  vehemence,  for  in  spite  of 
her  apparent  gayety  and  merriment  she  was  a  tender, 
sensitive  plant.  He  would  woo  her  with  the  utmost 
gentleness  after  the  permission  was  once  given. 

"She  is  so  young,"  Gaspard  Denys  began  reluctantly. 


220        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Whether  a  girl  at  that  time  of  life  knows  her  own 
mind,  is  able  to  choose  wisely " 

''But  it  is  the  guardians  and  parents  generally  who 
choose.  A  little  advice,  suggestion — and  I  think  I  can 
satisfy  you  on  any  point  you  desire.  Ma'm'selle  Renee 
would  go  back  to  the  standing  of  her  father's  family. 
She  would  have  advantages,  and  I  may  succeed  to  a 
title.  Still,  now  I  only  present  myself,  and  rely  upon 
no  adventitious  aids." 

"It  would  be — for  her  to  decide.  And  I  would  rather 
have  her  here.  Her  father,  it  seems,  cared  little  enough 
about  her.  No,  I  do  not  think  I  could  give  her  up,"  de 
cisively. 

"But  it  is  not  absolutely  necessary  that  I  return  to 
France,"  in  a  gravely  gentle  tone.  "After  my  affairs 
in  Montreal  are  settled,  which  I  hope  will  turn  out 
profitably,  I  should  be  free  to  do  as  I  liked,  or  as  an 
other  liked,"  smiling  affably. 

"We  will  not  decide  this  matter  hastily.  If  you  chose 
to  go  to  Montreal,  and  the  spring  will  soon  open," 
M.  Denys  said  tentatively. 

M.  Laflamme  thought  he  had  only  to  ask  to  have. 
He  fancied  Gaspard  Denys  would  be  very  glad  to  marry 
his  adopted  daughter  into  a  good  family — for,  after  all, 
her  grandfather  had  not  been  held  in  high  esteem.  A 
little  persuasion  on  Denys's  part,  a  little  setting  forth  of 
the  advantages,  and  he  could  manage  to  do  the  rest  by 
flattery  and  cajolery.  He  began  to  half  wish  he  had 
not  taken  a  step  in  the  matter,  but  he  could  not  draw 
back  now. 

"I  should  like  to  know  that  my  suit  was  favorably 
looked  upon  before  I  went,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

"Oh,  you  may  soon  know  that.  To-morrow,  per 
haps." 


GATHERING  THISTLES  221 

"Meanwhile  may  I  see  Ma'm'selle  de  Longueville  ?" 

"She  is  at  the  Marchands'." 

Monsieur  Laflamme  bowed.  He  did  not  care  to  sub 
ject  himself  to  the  clear,  intent  eyes  of  Madame  Mar- 
chand.  They  were  too  penetrating. 

A  fortune  was  not  so  easily  won,  after  all.  Fate  was 
playing  at  cross-purposes.  Renee  and  Wawataysee 
were  skimming  over  the  lake  in  an  ice  boat.  If  he  had 
guessed  that  he  might  have  walked  home  with  her  in 
the  twilight. 

Renee  was  brilliant  with  the  bloom  of  the  frosty  air 
as  she  came  in,  and  her  eyes  were  like  stars.  A 
pang  went  to  Gaspard's  heart.  Ought  she  not  take 
her  place  on  a  higher  round  than  this  little  town  of 
traders  and  trappers  and  farmers,  many  of  them 
scarcely  knowing  how  to  read  ?  There  might  be  beau 
tiful,  satisfactory  years  before  her — years  with  edu 
cated,  refined  people.  He  knew  something  of  the  larger 
cities  and  their  advantages ;  he  could  guess  at  many  of 
the  charms  of  the  beautiful,  fascinating,  historic  Paris, 
with  its  palaces  and  villas  and  works  of  art  and  won 
derful  gardens.  Should  she  be  shut  out  of  all  these 
and  affiliate  with  the  wilderness  of  the  New  World? 
No.  If  it  broke  his  heart,  she  should  be  free  to  choose. 

"You  had  a  fine  time !"  he  commented. 

"Oh,  splendid !  Do  you  know,  I  shall  hate  to  have 
the  snow  and  ice  vanish !  Oh,  you  should  have  seen 
the  sky  to-night  when  the  red  sun  dropped  down  behind 
the  mountains  and  everything  was  illumined  as  from 
some  mighty  blaze.  And  then  fading,  changing  to 
such  gorgeous  colors.  Oh,  what  is  back  of  it  all? 
What  wonderful  power  and  glory?" 

Yes,  she  was  capable  of  appreciating  higher  and  finer 
opportunities  than  any  she  would  ever  have  here. 


222       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

He  went  through  to  the  shop.  He  could  not  enjoy 
the  fire  when  Mere  Lunde  was  clattering  pots  and  pans. 
But  he  had  his  own,  if  the  place  was  a  conglomeration 
of  everything.  He  had  made  himself  a  big,  easy  chair, 
and  the  great  buffalo-skin  thrown  over  it  kept  off 
drafts.  The  fire  was  poked  up ;  the  dry  pine  made  an 
exhilarating  blaze,  and  the  pungency  affected  one  like 
drinking  wine — sent  a  thrill  to  the  farthest  pulse. 

Renee  came  and  stood  in  the  light  of  the  blaze,  that 
made  a  Rembrandt  picture  of  her.  She  watched  the 
dancing,  leaping  flames.  She  smiled,  turned  grave, 
then  smiled  again,  and  presently  caught  sight  of  the 
serious  face  watching  her. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  dropping  down  on  a  log, 
fur-covered  for  a  stool. 

"Renee,  I  wonder  if  you  would  like  to  go  away  and 
visit  wonderful,  beautiful  countries,  where  people  have 
books  and  pictures  and  fine  houses,  and  where  there  are 

elegant  men  and  women " 

"Why  ?    Are  you  going  ?" 

She  took  the  rather  rough  hand  in  hers,  soft  as  velvet, 
and  gazed  at  him  out  of  surprised  eyes. 

"Would  you  like  to  go?"  studying  her  lovely  face. 
"Not  without  you,"  gravely. 

"But  if  some  one  younger  and  handsome,  well-in 
formed,  accustomed  to  a  more  refined  life,  should  care 

for  you,  should  want  to  take  you,  should " 

"Oh,  what  is  it  you  mean?  And  who  is  it?  And  I 
could  not  go  unless" — her  face  was  scarlet — "unless  he 
married  me,  I  know  that.  And  there  is  no  one  I  would 
marry.  Do  you  think  I  would  go  away  and  leave  you, 
when  I  love  you  so,  when  you  wanted  me  and  no  one 
else  did?  Why,  I  would  not  marry  a  king!"  and  she 
clasped  her  arms  about  his  neck. 


GATHERING  THISTLES  223 

Then  a  sudden  knowledge  flashed  over  her.  She  re 
called  last  evening. 

"I  know!"  she  exclaimed.  "It  is  Monsieur  La- 
flamme.  And  he  dared " 

She  clinched  her  small  fist. 

"Then  he  spoke  last  night?      And  you " 

"No,  he  did  not  speak.  But  you  can  make  one  un 
derstand.  Perhaps  he  might  have,  but  Andre  came." 

Renee  rose  suddenly  and  stretched  up  her  full  height. 

"Then  he  did  mean —  Andre  said  he  was  only  pre 
tending.  I  should  hate  him  still  more  if  he  could  do 
that!  But  if  he  thinks  I  care  for  him  and  would  go 
away  with  him  to  the  fairest  spot  in  the  world — oh, 
you  do  not  want  me  to !"  and  she  threw  herself  into  his 
arms,  sobbing  vehemently. 

"Renee,  child,  there  is  no  harm  done.  He  was  very 
gentlemanly.  He  asked  for  your  hand  as  an  honest 
man  should.  And  we  cannot  blame  him  altogether," 
a  spice  of  humor  in  his  tone.  "He  fancied  you  cared 
for  him.  Men  occasionally  make  mistakes." 

Had  she  made  him  believe  that?  She  had  tried 
somewhat  without  considering  the  consequences.  The 
little  triumph  had  appealed  to  her  girlish  vanity.  How 
could  she  explain  it? 

"I  liked  him  a  little,"  she  confessed  brokenly.  "And 
I  was  proud  and  delighted  to  be  chosen  his  queen.  But 
I  do  not  want  him  to  love  me.  I  do  not  want  any  one 
to  love  me  but  just  you.  I  shall  never  love  any  one  else." 

It  was  a  very  sweet  confession,  but  she  did  not  know 
what  it  meant.  So  her  mother  had  said,  and  he  wanted 
to  believe  he  had  held  her  truest  faith,  and  this  had  de 
scended  to  her  child. 

"Then  what  am  I  to  tell  him?  That  you  are  too 
young  to  think  about  such  things  ?" 


"4        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"That  I  shall  never  think  about  him  in  that  manner. 
Oh,  make  him  understand  that!" 

"There,  dear,  it  is  not  worth  crying  over.  He  is  not 
the  first  man  who  has  found  the  rose  out  of  reach  or 
been  pricked  by  thorns." 

Gaspard  turned  up  the  sweet,  flushed,  tear-wet  face 
and  kissed  it.  He  was  so  glad  to  have  it  back  safe  and 
innocent  of  the  great  knowledge  that  sooner  or  later 
comes  to  all  womanhood.  Some  day  it  would  come  to 
her,  but  let  him  keep  his  little  girl  as  long  as  he  could. 

So  it  was  all  settled,  but  Renee  could  not  feel  quite  at 
rest  about  it.  These  people  did  not  make  tyrants  of 
conscience;  they  were  not  analytical  nor  given  to  in 
quisitorial  scrutiny  of  every  feeling  or  motive.  The 
priests  were  as  simple-hearted  as  the  people.  True, 
some  of  them  were  considered  rather  lax  when  they  had 
left  their  people  open  to  Protestant  influences.  But 
here  there  were  no  Protestants,  no  religious  arguments. 
To  tell  the  truth,  to  be  honest,  just  and  kindly  was  creed 
enough  for  the  women.  Their  hearts  were  not  probed 
to  the  deepest  thought.  They  confessed  a  bit  of  tem 
per,  a  little  envying,  perhaps  some  laxness  about  pray 
ers,  and  took  a  simple  penance.  Church-going  was 
one  of  their  pleasures. 

Yet  Renee  had  a  kind  of  misgiving  that  she  had 
thrown  at  Monsieur  Laflamme  some  of  those  radiant 
looks  that  might  mean  much  or  little,  according  to  one's 
way  of  translating  them.  She  put  the  thought  of 
marriage  far  away  from  her.  Some  time  a  delightful, 
devoted  man,  like  M.  Marchand,  might  cross  her  path. 
He  was  so  strong  and  yet  so  gentle.  He  was  always 
thinking  of  what  would  please  Wawataysee.  Even 
now,  with  two  babies,  he  went  out  rambling  with  her, 
and  they  came  home  laden  with  wild  flowers  or  berries. 


GATHERING  THISTLES  225 

Then  it  was  out  canoeing,  of  which  the  young  wife  was 
extremely  fond. 

But  it  did  not  seem  as  if  M.  Laflamme  would  be  given 
to  this  kind  of  devotion.  He  would  seek  to  bend  a 
woman  to  his  will.  There  were  wives  who  cheerfully 
bowed  their  heads  to  their  masters,  but  as  a  general 
thing  these  simple-minded  French  husbands  were  not 
tyrants. 

She  did  not  like  him  to  come  so  near;  it  made  her 
afraid.  And,  girlish  contradiction,  she  had  delighted 
in  her  power  of  bringing  him  near,  of  tasting  the  sweets 
of  a  certain  kind  of  exaction.  Andre  always  yielded 
to  her  whims  and  seldom  had  any  will  of  his  own. 

She  sat  in  the  garden  awhile  listening  to  the  birds 
and  a  pretty  black-eyed  squirrel,  who  kept  running  up 
and  down  the  tree  beside  her  and  looking  as  if  he 
would  presently  jump  on  her  shoulder.  Then  she  saw 
Andre  coming  up  the  path,  and  a  tormenting  impulse 
seized  her.  She  skipped  across  the  grass  with  a  tri 
umph  of  laughter  in  her  eyes. 

"Andre !"  she  cried  gayly.  "Andre,  you  were  quite 
mistaken — "  How  should  she  word  it? 

"Mistaken!  About  what?"  and  he  raised  his  hon 
est  eyes,  half  amused. 

"About — Monsieur  Laflamme.  You  said  that  he  did 
not  mean  anything;  that  he  only  cared  to  win  a  girl's 
heart  and  cast  it  away.  It  is  not  true.  You  were  very 
unjust.  He  has  been  here.  He  has  asked  Uncle  Gas- 
pard  for  my  hand.  He  would  like  to  marry  me.  And 
I  am  not  quite  sixteen !"  in  a  tone  of  exultation. 

She  mistook  the  fleeting  color  for  a  fit  of  vexation 
that  he  had  been  wrong,  though  people  generally  turned 
red  when  they  were  angry.  It  seemed  to  him  all  the 
blood  rushed  out  of  his  body,  whither  he  knew  not,  but 


226        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

left  him  as  one  dead.     And  there  was  a  solemn  tolling 
of  bells  in  his  ears. 

She  was  enjoying  his  unlooked-for  mood  with  a  cer 
tain  sense  of  triumph. 

"Oh,  the  pity  of  the  blessed  saints,  of  the  sweet 
Virgin  herself !  And  you  mean  to  marry  him !" 

"Well,  if  I  did?"  saucily.  "I  dare  say  there  are  girls 
who  would  jump  at  the  prospect." 

"But  you  know  next  to  nothing  about  him.  He  may 
have  a  wife  already  somewhere.  Such  things  have 
been.  Oh,  Monsieur  Denys  cannot,  will  not  let  you  go !" 

That  was  like  a  strain  of  sweet  music  to  her.  Then 
she  laughed  and  he  looked  puzzled. 

"Oh,"  with  an  airy  toss  of  the  head,  "I  don't  believe 
Uncle  Gaspard  would  break  my  heart  and  make  me 
miserable  if  I  had  cared  a  great  deal  for  M.  Laflamme. 
But  I  do  not  want  to  marry  any  one.  I  do  not  want  to 
go  away.  I  am  very  happy  here.  Why,  there  isn't  a 
man  in  the  world  like  Uncle  Gaspard !" 

There  was  a  great  revulsion  in  every  pulse.  The 
warm  blood  came  back  to  Andre's  cheek  and  the 
strange  look  went  out  of  his  eyes. 

"But  you  see  you  were  mistaken.  You  gave  him 
hard  and  unjust  judgment.  I  suppose  he  must  have 
loved  me  or  he  wouldn't  have  wanted  to  marry  me. 
There  is  no  lack  of  pretty  girls  in  the  town." 

She  held  her  head  with  triumphant  assurance.  Her 
eyes  were  brimming  over,  her  red  lips  full  of  saucy 
curves,  in  which  seemed  to  lurk  budding  kisses  for  some 
lover. 

But  Andre  blundered,  as  inexperience  sometimes  will. 

"It  is  not  only  the  beauty,  ma'm'selle.  Laure  Eude- 
line  is  like  a  picture,  but  without  a  sou  or  a  silver  spoon 
for  her  portion.  Has  M.  Laflamme  looked  at  her  twice? 


GATHERING  THISTLES  227 

And  you  have  a  dot  that  would  make  many  men  covet 
you.  Every  one  knows  it  will  only  grow  larger  in 
M'sieu  Denys's  hands.  And  I  dare  say  he  would  like 
the  pleasure  of  handling  it." 

Renee  had  rarely  thought  of  her  fortune.  And  the 
most  exquisite,  the  most  romantic  dream  of  a  young 
girl  is  to  be  loved  for  herself  alone.  Andre  had  sud 
denly  dashed  this  enchanting  belief  to  fragments.  Yes, 
there  was  the  fortune,  a  hard,  solemn  fact.  Must  she 
suspect  every  one  henceforward? 

"Andre,"  she  cried  in  passionate  anger,  "you  are 
small  and  mean  and  suspicious !  I  hate  you !" 

It  was  the  truth,  since  Andre  had  heard  Madame  Au- 
bry  and  one  or  two  others  commend  Monsieur  La- 
flamme  for  his  wisdom.  Some  man  would  marry 
Mademoiselle  de  Longueville  in  a  year  or  two.  But  it 
was  an  unfortunate  way  of  putting  her  on  guard.  And 
it  stings  a  girl  with  mortification  to  hear  a  man  belittled 
who  has  paid  her  the  compliment  of  a  marriage  pro 
posal. 

The  young  fellow  walked  away.  There  was  some 
thing  fine  and  solid  about  him,  she  had  to  admit,  angry 
as  she  was.  Almost  as  tall  as  Uncle  Gaspard  and  with 
a  compact,  yet  lithesome  figure,  carrying  his  head  well, 
stepping  with  decision  and  having  an  air  of  command 
with  most  people,  but  never  with  her,  for  she  ruled 
him. 

Her  anger  was  short-lived,  after  all.  When  she  quar 
relled  with  him  there  always  came  up  a  procession  of 
remembrances.  She  knew  now  what  might  have  been 
her  fate  as  a  captive,  and  he  had  saved  her  from  that. 
He  had  gone  without  food  that  she  and  Wawataysee 
would  not  lose  their  strength  until  they  had  reached 
some  place  of  safety.  He  had  carried  her  that  last 


228        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

night.  Yes,  she  was  an  ungrateful,  exasperating  little 
thing,  and  after  all  she  did  not  really  hate  him.  She 
would  not  even  want  him  to  go  out  of  her  life.  Sud 
denly  she  thought  she  would  not  even  like  him  to  love 
some  other  girl. 

He  had  a  long  conversation  with  Gaspard  Denys 
that  comforted  him  a  good  deal.  Denys  was  like  an 
older  brother,  taking  a  great  interest  in  his  advance 
ment,  advising  him  as  to  what  was  best  to  do  with  his 
savings,  but  as  yet  he  had  never  said,  "You  had  better 
marry  some  nice,  thrifty  girl."  Somehow  he  was  very 
glad  of  that. 

She  lingered  around  in  the  old  garden  and  the  happy 
light  came  back  to  her  eyes,  the  balmy  air  soothed  her 
ruffled  temper.  In  her  secret  heart  she  believed  M.  La- 
flamme  had  really  loved  her.  If  there  were  other  pretty 
girls  in  the  world,  there  were  other  rich  girls,  too.  In 
Canada,  where  he  was  going,  there  were  real  heiresses, 
though  how  much  it  took  to  constitute  one  she  had  no 
idea. 

He  did  not  come  through  the  garden.  Perhaps  he 
meant  to  stay  to  supper.  Then  she  would  be  rather 
grave  and  dignified,  and  show  him  that  he  had  seriously 
offended  her. 

"Renee!     Renee,  petite!"  called  Mere  Lunde. 

There  was  a  quick  stride  down  the  street.  It  turned 
the  corner.  She  pulled  a  rose  and  unthinkingly  pressed 
it  to  her  lips. 

"Andre !"  she  said  in  a  rather  appealing  tone. 

The  tall  figure  bent  over  the  fence,  and  the  eyes  were 
touched  with  an  eager,  responsive  light. 

"Andre,  were  you  very  angry?     I  was " 

"Oh,  ma'm'selle,  who  could  long  be  angry  with  one 
so  charming?"  and  his  whole  heart  was  in  his  voice. 


GATHERING  THISTLES  229 

She  gave  him  the  rose.  "I  must  run  in  to  supper," 
and  she  vanished  like  a  sprite. 

"She  kissed  the  rose,"  he  said,  pressing  it  to  his  lips. 
"Oh,  ma'm'selle,  no  sweeter  flower  ever  bloomed.  But 
you  are  a  rose  set  in  thorns.  The  fragrance  clings  to 
you,  the  thorns  prick  others." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   RISE   IN   THE   RIVER. 

THERE  was  news  enough  at  Madame  Renaud's. 
Every  year  she  grew  a  little  stouter,  a  trifle  more  conse 
quential.  The  grandmeres  always  were.  Elise  and 
Louis  both  had  little  daughters.  There  had  been  sons 
before,  but  granddaughters  were  rather  nearer,  it 
seemed.  She  must  make  a  christening  cake  for  both, 
and  she  thanked  the  saints  that  the  church  had  been 
freshened  up  a  little  and  that  the  good  Vicar-General 
had  made  a  gift  of  a  new  altar  cloth. 

The  other  news  was  not  so  joyous.  Barbe  Gardepier 
had  never  been  home  since  her  marriage.  Women  trav 
elled  very  seldom  in  those  days.  Once  her  baby  boy  had 
been  born  and  died,  then  her  little  girl  was  just  born. 
And  now  she  had  lost  her  husband,  and  was  coming 
back  to  St.  Louis  to  live. 

Jean  Gardepier  had  died  early  in  the  winter.  But 
news  was  slow  in  coming.  This  had  been  sent  with  the 
first  relay  of  boats,  and  she  would  be  up  in  June  with 
her  little  girl. 

"And  to  think  of  the  sorrow  of  the  poor  thing !"  ex 
claimed  Madame  Renaud,  wiping  her  eyes.  "Here  I 
have  my  good  man  Louis  and  my  four  children  around 
me,  three  of  them  in  homes  of  their  own,  and  never  a 
sorrow,  while  she  is  left  alone  to  sup  bitter  grief !  And 
not  a  relative  near  her!  The  saints  be  praised  when 
it  is  possible  for  families  to  stay  together.  Then  there 
is  a  friendly  voice  to  console  you." 


THE  RISE  IN  THE  RIVER  231 

They  all  remembered  pretty  Barbe  Guion.  The  old 
grandmere  had  died — that  was  natural  in  old  age — but 
aunts  and  uncles  and  cousins  were  living,  so  it  was  a 
family  grief. 

But  the  christening  came  to  break  the  sorrow  and 
there  was  a  grand  time.  Spring  had  come  late  this 
year.  With  a  rather  hard  winter,  streams  and  rivers 
had  been  choked  with  ice,  but  now  all  was  bloom  and 
beauty  and  gladness. 

There  were  always  some  special  prayers  and  a  mass 
said  on  Corpus  Christi  day,  and  it  was  kept  with  great 
seriousness  at  Gaspard  Denys'.  But  the  Indians  all 
about  were  so  friendly  that  fears  were  allayed,  though 
the  town  was  better  protected  now. 

There  had  been  very  heavy  spring  rains,  and  this, 
with  the  sunshine,  gave  promise  of  abundant  harvests. 
Farmers  had  begun  to  plant  wheat  and  rye,  which 
brought  back  old  memories  of  pleasant  life  in  sunny 
France  when  taxes  and  tithes  were  not  too  high. 

Amid  all  this  smiling  content  there  was  one  morning  a 
strange  sound.  Men  paused  at  their  work  and  listened. 
Sometimes  in  a  high  wind  the  sound  came  rushing  over 
the  prairie  like  the  tramp  of  an  army,  and  seemed  to 
threaten  everything  with  destruction.  Occasionally  the 
river  rose,  but  since  the  founding  of  the  towns  no  great 
harm  had  been  done. 

On  it  came,  nearer,  with  a  thundering  boom  that  now 
could  not  be  mistaken.  Men  rushed  to  the  levee  to  be 
sure  that  the  boats  were  made  safe.  They  looked  up 
the  river,  standing  on  the  high  ground.  What  was  this 
terror  marching  toward  them?  A  seething,  foaming 
flood  with  great,  dark  waves  tossing  up  a  yellow-black 
spray,  sweeping  all  before  it. 

"The  river!    The  river  is  rising!"  was  shouted  by 


232       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

terrified  voices,  and  men  looked  at  each  other  in  fear. 
They  had  never  seen  anything  like  it.  There  had  been 
freshets  that  had  done  considerable  damage,  torn  out 
banks  and  sent  down  great  drifts  of  broken  and  up 
rooted  trees.  There  had  been  ice  gorges,  when  the 
cakes  of  ice  would  pile  up  like  Arctic  mounds,  crashing, 
thundering,  and  suddenly  give  way,  dazzling  in  the 
sunshine  like  a  fleet  of  boats  and,  sweeping  down  the 
river,  crush  whatever  was  in  its  way. 

But  this  was  a  great  wall,  starting  up  no  one  knew 
where,  swelled  by  the  streams,  expanded  by  the  Mis 
souri,  sweeping  all  before  it,  submerging  Gaboret 
Island,  gathering  momentum  every  moment,  swirling 
at  every  point  and  curve,  as  if  longing  to  beat  them  out 
of  existence,  and  with  an  accumulation  of  uprooted 
trees  so  jammed  together  that  many  of  them  stood  up 
right,  a  great  army  of  devastation. 

The  current  was  very  swift  in  any  freshet.  Although 
it  was  called  the  great  river,  that  applied  more  to  its 
length,  for  here  it  was  not  much  over  two  thousand 
feet  wide.  But  it  was  deep,  with  a  dangerous  power 
when  it  rose  in  its  might,  and  fed  by  so  many  streams 
and  tributaries  that  the  debris  was  constantly  washing 
down  to  the  gulf  at  its  numerous  mouths. 

They  gazed  in  speechless  terror  at  first,  as  if  they 
would  be  helpless  in  the  grasp  of  such  a  giant,  and  the 
roar  was  appalling.  The  spray  seemed  dashed  up  in 
the  very  face  of  heaven ;  the  rending,  tearing  and  crush 
ing  was  terrific.  The  very  trees  shrieked  as  they 
were  torn  from  their  foundation.  On  it  rushed,  a  great, 
dark,  fierce  wall,  sweeping  everything  in  its  way,  tear 
ing  out  banks,  booming  like  the  roar  of  artillery,  shriek 
ing  with  madness,  as  if  hundreds  of  people  were  crying 
out  for  help  and  safety.  The  crowd  looked  at  each 


THE  RISE  IN  THE  RIVER  233 

other  in  dismay.  Some  fled  to  the  next  higher  range, 
many  sank  helplessly  to  the  ground,  others  were  on  their 
knees  praying.  And  when  it  struck  the  little  town  it 
seemed  like  a  mighty  earthquake,  and  the  ground  fairly 
shuddered  as  it  rushed  by  furiously. 

The  boats  that  had  been  drawn  up  to  a  safe  line,  as 
was  thought,  were  swept  off  to  join  the  mad,  careering 
mass  and  add  to  the  rending,  deafening  sound.  And 
when  the  first  accumulation  had  swept  by  and  was 
whirling  around  the  bend  of  the  river  another  and  still 
another  followed.  Was  the  whole  north  going  to  be 
precipitated  upon  them  ? 

The  curve  in  the  river  did  the  town  this  much  good : 
it  swept  the  fierce  current  to  the  eastern  side,  tore  out, 
submerged,  and  by  the  time  it  turned  it  was  below  the 
town.  They  were  not  to  be  swept  quite  away,  and  some 
of  the  braver  ones  began  to  take  courage  and  ventured 
to  look  at  the  levee  below.  That  was  gone,  of 
course. 

It  was  a  day  and  a  night  of  terror.  The  flood  had 
submerged  a  part  of  the  Rue  Royale  and  some  of  the 
residents  had  moved  their  belongings  to  higher  ground. 
Trading  houses  had  been  emptied  of  their  goods.  Gas- 
pard  Denys  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  intense  satis 
faction.  Up  here  past  the  Rue  de  1'Eglise  all  was  safe 
and  dry. 

For  days  there  seemed  a  spell  upon  the  people.  They 
could  do  little  besides  watch  the  receding  river  and  view 
the  wreckage  it  had  left  in  its  wake.  Great  caves  and 
indentations  on  the  opposite  shore,  bare  spaces  where 
trees  had  waved  their  long  green  arms  joyously  in  the 
sunshine  a  few  days  ago.  Yet  they  found  they  had 
not  fared  so  badly.  Everybody  turned  out  to  help  re 
pair  damages, 


234        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

What  of  the  fleet  of  boats  coming  up  the  river? 
What  of  the  towns  below  ? 

"And  my  poor  Barbe!"  cried  Madame  Renaud. 
"Why,  they  would  be  almost  home,  unless  the  boats 
were  swept  to  destruction.  Only  a  miracle  could  have 
saved  them.  And  oh,  then,  where  are  they?" 

True.  The  waters  had  subsided  so  much  it  would 
be  safe  to  go  in  search  of  them.  There  were  several 
coves  less  infested  now  with  pirates  than  formerly, 
where  boats  sometimes  put  in  to  avoid  the  storms. 
Colonel  Chouteau  at  once  had  two  boats  made  ready  and 
stored  with  provisions,  in  case  of  a  rescue  of  any  voy 
agers. 

Then  some  trading  fleets  ventured  from  St.  Charles. 
All  along  the  shores  on  both  sides  were  marks  of  dev 
astation.  Great  chasms  had  been  created  here,  and 
there  mounds  of  broken  trees  and  tons  of  river  mud  de 
posited  over  them.  Gaboret  Island  began  to  show  its 
head,  but  it  had  been  swept  clean. 

The  farther  down  the  river  went,  the  more  appalling 
had  been  the  destruction.  The  fate  of  the  towns  below 
they  could  only  guess  at,  but  the  news  came  presently. 
Cahokia  had  been  nearly  swept  out  of  existence.  Part 
of  Kaskaskia,  the  oldest  part  built  on  the  river  bluff, 
had  been  torn  away  by  the  resistless  force.  People 
were  flying  hither  and  thither,  having  lost  their  all. 

Andre  Valbonais  had  headed  the  rescuing  party — if, 
indeed,  there  was  anything  to  rescue.  The  mighty  river 
had  gone  back  to  its  normal  state ;  the  banks,  encrusted 
with  yellow  mud,  were  drying  in  the  sun.  They  found 
curious  changes.  Two  of  the  little  coves  were  filled 
with  debris  and  gave  no  indication  of  sheltering  any 
travellers. 

They  passed  the  Miramec  River  with  no  sign.    That, 


! 


THE  RISE  IN  THE  RIVER  235 

too,  had  all  its  banks  submerged,  and  the  tough  grasses 
and  reeds  were  just  rearing  their  heads.  On  again, 
here  was  quite  a  bluff.  Just  around  the  turn  had  been 
a  noted  pirate  resort,  broken  up  two  or  three  times ;  at 
the  last  time  with  the  cost  of  a  number  of  lives. 

"Do  you  suppose  it  will  be  safe?"  queried  the  cap 
tain.  "There  may  be  Indians  in  hiding." 

Valbonais  reconnoitred  awhile.  "Up  above  there 
is  the  smoke  of  a  fire,"  he  said.  "And  I  think  I  see  a 
boat  just  beyond  the  turn.  Get  your  arms,  men,  and 
be  ready  to  back  out  if  we  are  in  danger." 

They  crept  on  cautiously.  Now  they  could  see  two 
boats  drawn  up  on  a  ledge.  Farther  up  there  was  a 
cluster  of  men. 

"They  are  not  pirates,  surely.  They  would  have  some 
scouts  stationed  if  they  were." 

"They  are  making  signs.  Oh,  no,  they  are  neither 
Indians  nor  pirates,"  and  the  captain  dug  the  pole  in 
the  soft  bank,  impelling  the  boat  up  a  yard  or  two. 
And  then  he  heard  a  joyful  cry,  which  he  answered 
by  an  encouraging  greeting  through  the  horn  he 
carried. 

It  was,  indeed,  the  stranded  voyagers.  The  captain 
of  the  fleet  came  running  down  the  winding  path.  He 
was  a  Spaniard,  quite  well  known  in  St.  Louis,  Dessous 
by  name. 

As  to  his  story,  all  had  been  fair  sailing,  with  mostly 
fine  weather  until  they  had  reached  this  point.  At  the 
first  sight  they  feared  a  hurricane  was  upon  them.  The 
river  began  to  seethe  and  swell,  and  the  noise  of  its  rush 
sounded  the  awful  warning  in  their  ears.  The  boats 
had  been  cordelled,  and  now  the  order  was  given  to 
run  them  in  the  cove.  Two  had  reached  a  point  of 
safety  when  the  sweeping  torrent  invaded  this  shelter 


236       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

and  took  with  it  the  rest  of  the  line  to  join  the  raging 
flood. 

The  few  passengers  were  in  the  first  boat,  and  were 
soon  put  ashore  and  bidden  to  run  upon  the  high 
ground.  Then  an  effort  was  made  to  save  the  two  re 
maining  boats.  Now  and  then  a  swirl  nearly  submerged 
them,  but  a  mass  of  tree  trunks  and  branches  caught 
on  some  projection  at  the  mouth  of  the  cove,  which 
turned  the  current  and  gave  them  a  promise  of  safety. 
There  was  a  cave,  partly  natural,  and  rendered  more 
secure  by  the  gang  of  pirates  who  had  once  made  it 
their  camping  ground.  But  now  it  began  to  fill  with 
water.  So  they  carried  some  of  their  stores  and  blan 
kets  to  a  sheltered  place  up  above  to  await  the  result. 
Even  here  they  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  river. 

When  Captain  Dessous  thought  it  safe  to  venture, 
they  examined  the  boats  and  found  one  with  a  large 
hole  in  the  bottom  where  it  had  struck  on  the  jagged 
rock.  They  had  provisions  and  made  a  rude  shelter  for 
the  women,  three  ladies  and  a  maid,  and  a  little  child. 
It  would  not  be  safe  to  venture  until  the  river  had  sub 
sided,  so  they  had  waited.  All  could  not  go  in  the  one 
boat,  and  to  leave  the  others  at  the  mercy  of  prowling 
Indians,  or,  it  might  be,  a  return  of  some  pirate  squad, 
was  hardly  safe.  Still  some  of  the  more  courageous 
men  had  agreed  to  remain,  and  they  had  decided  to 
start  shortly.  It  was  full  moon  now  and  the  night 
would  be  light  enough  for  safety  if  they  were  caught 
in  it,  for  no  one  could  calculate  the  exact  distance  or  the 
obstacles  they  would  have  to  encounter. 

Now  all  was  joyous  satisfaction.  The  stores  from 
the  injured  boat  were  divided  among  the  other  two,  and 
the  women  taken  on  board  the  rescue  boat.  They  found 
their  way  out  to  the  river,  now  flowing  along  serenely. 


THE  RISE  IN  THE  RIVER  237 

But  there  would  be  the  tide  against  them.  Still  they 
were  delighted  at  the  thought  of  soon  reaching  a  safe 
harbor.  The  moon  came  out  in  its  most  resplendent 
beauty.  The  banks  of  the  river  were  a  series  of  be 
wildering  pictures  for  any  one  with  an  artistic  eye.  The 
men  sang  songs  in  French  and  Spanish,  and  would  have 
danced  if  there  had  been  room. 

"They  are  coming  up  the  river!"  some  one  shouted 
in  the  light  of  the  golden  June  morning.  "There  is  Cap 
tain  Javelot  and  Andre  Valbonais.  I  can  make  them 
out  through  the  glass.  And  some  women." 

One  and  another  hurried  down.  Christophe  Bau- 
genon  expected  his  sweetheart,  and  had  been  get 
ting  a  nest  ready  for  her.  Madame  Galette  had  come 
up  to  end  her  days  with  her  two  sons.  Gaspard  Denys 
was  there  as  well,  anxious  to  know  how  the  peril  had 
been  escaped. 

There  was  a  lovely  woman  with  a  babe  in  her  arms. 
The  Spanish  veil-like  mantilla  was  thrown  gracefully 
over  her  head  and  shoulders.  Her  soft,  dark  eyes 
glanced  up  and  met  those  of  Denys,  who  stretched  out 
his  hand  past  that  of  Valbonais  in  a  heartfelt  greeting. 

"Barbe !"  he  cried.  "Barbe !"  forgetting  she  had  any 
other  name. 

"Oh,  Monsieur  Denys,  thank  heaven !" 

Madame  Renaud  came  rushing  down  with  a  wild  cry 
and  flung  her  arms  around  her  sister. 

"Let  me  take  the  child,"  Gaspard  said,  while  the  two 
women  fell  into  each  other's  embrace. 

A  pretty  little  thing  of  three  or  so,  with  rings  of  dark 
hair  about  her  forehead  and  curiously  tinted  eyes,  black 
with  golden  shades  in  them.  She  laid  her  hand  con 
fidingly  on  his  shoulder.  Children  always  trusted  him. 

"Marie !  Marie !"  called  Madame  Gardepier.     "Take 


238       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

the  little  Angelique.  Monsieur  Denys,  how  can  I  thank 
you?" 

She  was  lovelier  than  ever  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 
Elise  had  been  crying  over  her. 

Marie  was  maid  and  slave,  about  as  much  Spanish 
as  African,  slim  and  graceful,  and  with  the  beauty  be 
longing  to  the  mixed  blood.  The  child  made  no  demur, 
but  bestowed  a  dainty  smile  upon  him. 

"Oh — it  is  nothing."  He  had  not  come  expecting 
to  meet  her,  though  he  had  wondered  a  little  about  her. 

"But  to  be  here  again !  To  have  a  welcome  from  you, 
an  old  friend!  Yes,  it  is  joy  indeed." 

Christophe  Baugenon  had  his  arms  about  his  sweet 
heart.  They  were  glad  to  have  half  the  world  share 
their  joys,  in  those  early  days  when  honesty  was  more 
than  style  or  culture. 

"Come  soon,"  said  Madame  Renaud.  "We  are  all 
such  old  friends.  And  Barbe  will  have  so  much  to  tell. 
And  bring  ma'm'selle;  she  can't  have  forgotten.  Oh, 
Barbe,  she  is  a  young  lady  now !"  laughing  cheerily. 

Then  they  moved  on,  while  his  eyes  followed  them. 

Already  men  were  repairing  the  levee,  or,  rather, 
building  it  anew  under  Colonel  Chouteau's  direction. 
Some  other  overflow  in  time  would  sweep  this  away, 
but  this  was  the  best  of  their  knowledge  then.  And  the 
unfortunate  captain  had  his  story  to  tell.  He  had  saved 
his  papers  and  bills  of  lading,  and  could  tell  upon  whom 
the  losses  would  fall.  There  were  some  shipments  for 
Denys,  but  he  was  glad  no  lives  had  been  lost.  Andre 
was  describing  their  share  of  the  rescue  in  brief  terms. 
So  it  was  late  when  M.  Denys  returned. 

"We  waited  and  waited  for  you !"  cried  Renee.  "And 
the  breakfast  was  so  good — the  corn  cakes  Mere 
Lunde  makes  that  melt  in  your  mouth." 


THE  RISE  IN  THE  RIVER  239 

And  truly  even  those  wilderness  women,  with  no  culi 
nary  magazines  or  housekeeping  hints,  concocted  very 
savory  dishes.  Their  grater  was  of  the  rudest  kind.  A 
strip  of  tin  through  which  a  sharpened  bit  of  iron  was 
driven  to  make  holes,  the  rough  side  put  upward  as  it 
was  fastened  t&  a  piece  of  board.  On  this  they  grated 
green  corn  all  the  summer  and  autumn.  During  the 
winter  they  boiled  it  on  the  ear  until  it  was  soft,  then 
prepared  it  the  same  way.  The  cakes  were  mixed  with 
eggs  and  flour  and  baked  on  a  hot  flat  stone  in  the 
heat  of  the  coals.  A  syrup  made  of  maple  sugar  would 
be  poured  over  them. 

"Yes,  I  am  very  sorry — and  hungry,"  laughing. 
"There  was  so  much  to  talk  about." 

"And  was  any  one  lost?  Where  did  they  find  the 
boats  ?"  Renee  was  all  eagerness. 

"There  were  only  two.  The  rest  were  swept  away. 
They  took  shelter  in  Pirate  Creek,  but  the  pirates  have 
been  cleaned  out.  It  might  have  been  worse.  The 
losses  can  be  recouped.  Ah,  you  should  have  seen  the 
joy  of  Christophe  Baugenon  over  his  sweetheart !  Ma 
dame  Galette,  and  Madame  Gardepier  with  her  little 
girl." 

"She  is  quite  old  now,"  said  Renee,  with  the  assur 
ance  of  youth  that  is  its  own  hasty  judge. 

"Oh,  no!  Five  or  six  and  twenty.  And  her  little 
girl  is  about  three,  a  pretty  child.  Madame  Renaud  was 
wild  with  delight,  as  who  would  not  be.  And  she  begs 
that  we  will  come  soon." 

Renee  had  busied  herself  with  a  pretence  of  getting 
the  meal,  but  it  was  Mere  Lunde  who  had  toasted  the 
corn  cake  and  the  dried  fish.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  a 
tiny  shade  had  fallen  over  the  world,  but  no,  the  sun 
was  shining  with  extraordinary  brilliancy.  It  made 


24°       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

the  leaves  outside  scatter  its  golden  rays  about  as  if 
they  were  sprites  dancing. 

"The  blessed  Virgin  has  been  very  good  to  her,"  said 
Mere  Lunde,  crossing  herself.  "Such  a  fearful  time! 
I  hope  there  never  will  be  another.  And  Madame  Ga- 
lette.  I  knew  her  years  ago.  She  has  two  good  sons 
left." 

An  event  like  this  made  talk  for  days,  especially  as 
the  men  were  busy  repairing  damages,  and  the  captains 
had  to  tell  their  stories  over  and  over.  Then  the  next 
relay  of  boats  came  in  with  the  news  of  the  other  towns, 
and  that  families  were  resolving  to  emigrate.  Indeed, 
before  cold  weather  set  in  quite  a  number  of  families 
had  reached  St.  Louis,  and  many  a  winter  evening  was 
devoted  to  a  recount  of  dangers  and  wonderful  escapes, 
the  destruction  of  many  a  small  fortune. 

There  was  not  a  happier  heart  in  all  St.  Louis,  per 
haps,  than  that  of  Barbe  Gardepier.  If  her  marriage 
had  not  been  altogether  satisfactory,  she  would  not  at 
first  confess  it  to  her  sister.  New  Orleans  was  very 
different  from  St.  Louis.  Pleasures  were  not  so  sim 
ple.  There  were  cabarets  where  men  spent  evenings 
drinking  and  playing  games,  betting  and  losing.  And 
there  were  balls  where  men  never  took  their  wives,  but 
danced  with  beautiful  creole  girls  who  were  outside  the 
pale  of  their  own  people.  True,  the  wives  visited  each 
other  and  gossiped  about  this  and  that,  and  went  to 
church  often,  at  times  finding  a  choice  morsel  of  scandal 
to  discuss.  She  had  longed  for  her  own  old  home, 
and  as  the  weeks  and  months  went  on  she  seemed  to 
grow  away  from  her  husband  rather  than  nearer  to 
him.  He  had  not  appeared  to  mind  the  baby's  death 
much,  while  it  had  almost  broken  her  heart. 

She  had  been  bitterly  disappointed  in  the  non-success 


THE  RISE  IN  THE  RIVER  241 

of  her  second  plan  to  visit  home,  as  she  still  called  the 
old  town. 

"It  is  too  severe  a  journey,"  her  husband  had  said 
decisively.  "And  it  is  a  dull  little  place  at  the  best.  I 
would  not  stir  a  step  if  I  were  not  compelled  to." 

For  all  that  he  seemed  to  find  plenty  to  amuse  him 
self  with.  Coming  down  the  river,  he  had  made  a 
stay  at  Kaskaskia,  where  pretty  girls  abounded.  When 
he  did  return  there  was  a  little  daughter  to  claim  his 
love ;  but  he  was  not  fond  of  babies.  Girls  were  all  right 
enough  budding  into  womanhood,  with  a  hundred  se 
ductive  charms.  Until  then,  the  nursery  and  the  con 
vent. 

Barbe  might  have  found  amusement  and  danced  with 
the  gayest,  but  she  soon  learned  that  her  husband  was 
jealous  and  could  say  very  bitter  things.  So  she  kept 
to  her  little  girl  and  poured  out  all  her  love  on  this  sweet 
object.  There  were  moments  when  she  could  not  even 
bear  to  think  that  Jean  Gardepier  was  her  father. 

One  night  he  was  brought  home  with  a  bad  stab 
wound,  the  result  of  a  quarrel.  It  did  not  seem  danger 
ous  at  first,  but  he  fumed  and  fretted  and  would  go  out 
too  soon.  He  was  quite  ill  again,  and  then  it  was  found 
that  the  wound  had  penetrated  his  lung,  and,  after  a 
few  hemorrhages,  he  dropped  quietly  out  of  life.  There 
was  not  much  money  left,  but  enough  to  take  her  home 
and  keep  her  for  awhile,  and  though  she  tried  hard  to 
moderate  her  joy  at  the  thought,  in  her  inmost  heart 
she  felt  it  was  partly  the  sense  of  freedom. 

And  Gaspard  Denys  had  been  first  to  welcome  her. 
The  years  had  touched  him  lightly.  His  face  had  the 
same  strong  kindliness  that  had  made  her  feel  in  her 
girlhood  that  he  was  a  man  to  be  trusted  anywhere,  a 
man  one  could  rely  upon.  She  had  learned  many  things 


242       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

in  these  few  years  of  her  married  life.  She  had  had  a 
much  wider  experience  than  Madame  Renaud  with 
sons-in-law  and  daughter-in-law  and  the  many  years 
since  she  became  a  bride. 

Neighbors  came  out  to  greet  them.  It  was  like  a 
triumphal  procession.  Indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  all  the 
streets  were  full  of  gay,  cheerful  chatter.  For  in  those 
days  there  was  very  little  letter-writing ;  indeed,  many 
fine  housekeepers  and  excellent  women  did  not  know 
how  to  write. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  sisters  were  alone.  Nearly 
every  one  had  been  discussed,  and  Barbe  knew  about 
most  of  the  marriages  and  deaths,  the  new  babies,  the 
few  newcomers  and  the  general  prosperity,  as  well  as 
the  losses. 

"I  was  extremely  pleased  with  that  young  Valbonais," 
Barbe  said.  "He  has  improved  very  much.  Is  he  con 
nected  in  business  now  with  Monsieur  Denys  ?" 

"Oh,  no ;  he  remains  with  the  Chouteaus.  But  he  is 
a  frequent  guest,  and  one  can  almost  see  how  it  will 
end,"  laughing  with  a  certain  satisfaction. 

"You  mean — with  the  child  ?" 

"Yes.  She  is  a  very  pretty  girl.  She  was  at  two  of 
the  balls  last  winter,  though  not  a  queen.  There  was  a 
stranger,  two  of  them,  staying  with  the  Governor.  One 
cared  little  for  gayety ;  the  other  was  much  smitten  with 
the  attractive  Renee,  and  there  was  talk,  but  it  fell 
through.  It  was  said  that  he  really  did  ask  for  her 
hand.  But  I  think  M.  Denys  would  much  rather  have 
her  remain  here.  She  is  like  a  child  to  him." 

Barbe  nodded.     "Still  she  is  old  enough  to  marry." 

"Oh,  yes.  Then  her  grandfather  left  quite  a  for 
tune,  as  I  have  told  you.  She  is  very  young  for  her 
years,  though — a  child  in  some  things." 


THE  RISE  IN  THE  RIVER  243 

Barbe  drew  a  long  breath.  "It  is  a  little  singular  that 
M.  Denys  has  never  married,"  she  said  indifferently. 

"Oh,  he  may  marry  yet.  There  is  always  time  for  a 
man." 

Madame  Renaud  gave  a  meaning  laugh.  Barbe  felt 
her  color  rising,  but  vouchsafed  no  reply. 

That  evening  after  supper  M.  Denys  said : 

"Let  us  go  down  to  the  Renauds',  my  child,  and  wel 
come  Madame  Gardepier  home." 

"Why,  you  saw  her  this  morning !  I  thought  every 
body  was  giving  her  a  welcome.  She  will  be  tired  of 
so  much,"  was  the  rather  careless  reply. 

"One  is  never  tired  of  friendly  appreciation." 

"Indeed?"  almost  saucily.  "They  may  tire  of  other 
things,  however.  I  was  running  races  on  the  old  mound 
this  afternoon.  I  would  like  to  sit  and  rest  and  talk." 

"Running  races !  And  in  the  winter  you  were  asked 
in  marriage !"  He  laughed  heartily  and  pinched  her 
peachy  cheek. 

"Mere  Lunde  said  sometimes  princesses  in  France 
were  asked  in  marriage  when  they  were  only  a  few 
years  old,"  she  replied  with  dignity. 

"That  is  true  enough.  Offered  to  this  one  and  that. 
But  I  do  not  hawk  my  little  queen  about." 

"You  love  me  very  much  ?" 

She  uttered  it  with  a  soft  sigh  that  was  quite  charm 
ing  and  touched  him. 

"Ah,  you  know  that!"  with  fervor. 

"But  I  like  to  hear  you  say  it,"  pleadingly. 

"I  love  you  very  much."  He  bent  over  and  kissed 
the  crown  of  her  head,  adding,  "Then  you  will  not  go?" 

"Stay  with  me,"  she  entreated.  "You  haven't  told 
me  half  the  story  of  the  boat  coming  in  this  morning." 

There  was  a  light,  youthful  step  on  the  floor. 


244       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Ah,  Andre !"  Denys  said,  turning.  "Come  and  tell 
this  girl  the  welcomes  that  filled  the  air  this  morning, 
the  finding  of  the  castaways  and  all.  You  were  there, 
and  she  can  have  it  first-hand.  Meanwhile,  I  will  run 
down  to  the  Renauds'  and  see  if  Madame  Gardepier  is 
any  the  worse  for  her  journey." 

Renee  could  have  cried  out  with  vexation.  Denys 
did  not  even  stop  to  light  his  pipe. 

"Let  us  go  in  the  garden,  ma'm'selle.  It  is  so  beau 
tiful  in  the  starlight,  and  the  air  is  fragrant  with  a  hun 
dred  sweet  scents.  I  wish  you  could  have  had  the  sail 
last  night.  It  was  the  kind  of  thing  to  fill  one's  soul 
with  rapture." 

"I  am  tired !"  she  cried  pettishly.  "That  was  why  I 
refused  to  go  with  uncle.  And  I  don't  care  so  much 
about  the  rescue.  People  are  crazy,  as  if  nothing  ever 
happened  in  St.  Louis  before.  And  my  head  aches.  I 
believe  I  will  go  to  bed." 

She  sprang  up  impatiently. 

"I  am  sorry " 

"There  are  plenty  of  girls  who  will  be  glad  to  have 
you  talk  to  them,"  she  flung  out,  and  the  next  moment 
had  vanished. 

Andre  looked  after  her.  He  was  very  much  in  love 
with  her  now.  He  had  been  more  than  charmed  with 
the  young  Indian  girl.  He  had  even  thought  if  it  was 
true  M.  Marchand  was  dead,  he  would  try  to  comfort 
her,  to  win  her.  But  when  he  witnessed  her  love 
for  her  husband,  her  entire  devotion,  and  the  tone  in 
which  she  once  said :  "I  think  I  must  have  had  the  hope 
in  my  heart  all  the  time  that  my  husband  was  alive,  and 
that  gave  me  strength  when  it  seemed  as  if  I  must  drop 
by  the  wayside.  And  if  I  had  not  found  him  I  should 
have  died,  because  there  would  have  been  no  further 


THE  RISE  IN  THE  RIVER  245 

desire  to  live,"  he  believed  her  then.  He  knew  now 
that  must  have  been  the  end.  To  be  loved  like  that! 
Could  Fate  bestow  anything  better  ? 

But  last  winter  a  different  feeling  had  taken  posses 
sion  of  him.  First  it  was  an  effort  to  save  Renee  from 
a  possible  danger.  He  had  seen  considerable  of  Mon 
sieur  Laflamme  and  had  no  faith  whatever  in  him.  He 
was  quite  sure  it  was  her  fortune  that  had  attracted 
him,  for  he  was  paying  an  equivocal  sort  of  devotion  to 
several  others,  or  else  he  was  just  trifling  with  them  all, 
taking  what  amusement  he  could  in  the  simple  pleas 
ures  of  the  place. 

And  now  he  knew  that  he  had  a  desire  quite  for  him 
self  !  True  he  would  have  saved  her  from  any  possible 
evil,  but  he  wanted  her,  the  smiles  and  the  sweetness 
she  lavished  on  Uncle  Denys  and  Mere  Lunde,  the  ra 
diance  and  charm  that  she  flung  here  and  there.  He 
would  have  liked  to  go  about  and  gather  them  up  as  if 
they  were  tangible  things.  And  yet — she  did  not  care 
for  him.  Why,  then,  did  she  claim  him  in  dozens  of 
dainty  ways?  Why  did  she  put  him  between  herself 
and  other  gallants  when  their  devotion  became  too  pro 
nounced  ? 

Andre  Valbonais  was  simple  and  straightforward, 
and  had  a  very  limited  knowledge  of  the  twists  and 
turns  in  the  feminine  mind.  Complex  characters  are 
not  usual  where  people  live  truly  rather  than  take  con 
tinual  thought  about  living. 

He  went  out  now  and  sat  on  the  doorstep,  talking 
to  Mere  Lunde.  Some  one  was  playing  on  a  fiddle, 
interspersed  with  rollicking  songs,  and  the  sound  floated 
up  to  them.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  joy  in  the  world, 
but  his  heart  was  heavy. 

Renee  flung  herself  on  the  bed  and  wept  angrily,  bit- 


246       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

terly.  Barbe  Gardepier  had  come  into  her  life  again 
and  was  free.  She  had  summoned  Uncle  Gaspard  this 
first  night  to  her  side.  Had  he  loved  her  a  little  long 
ago?  Would  she  try  to  win  him  now?  Oh,  what  a 
dreary  outlook !  And  she  had  been  so  happy ! 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

RIVALS. 

GASPARD  DENYS  had  wondered  more  than  once  about 
Barbe's  married  life,  and  at  Gardepier's  second  visit  to 
St.  Louis  he  was  quite  convinced  that  he  was  not  the 
kind  of  man  to  make  a  tender,  clinging  heart  happy. 
Women  throve  and  blossomed  in  an  atmosphere  of  love ; 
grew  cold,  pale  and  listless  when  this  was  denied.  It 
was  their  natural  sustenance.  Had  this  hastened  Re- 
nee  Freneau's  death? 

And  when  he  saw  Marchand's  devotion  and  Wawa- 
tay see's  delicious  joy  in  it,  he  could  not  tell  why,  but  he 
wished  such  a  marriage  had  been  Barbe's  good  fortune. 

He  never  asked  himself  what  might  have  happened  if 
he  had  not  gone  to  Canada  for  Renee  de  Longueville. 
He  had  started  adventuring  first  in  a  desperate  frame  of 
mind,  and  then  grown  to  like  it  exceedingly.  He  had 
purchased  the  old  house  to  assist  a  family  in  distress 
who  had  lost  husband  and  father.  On  his  way  home 
with  his  little  Renee  he  had  resolved  to  set  up  a  house 
hold,  to  keep  the  child  under  his  guardianship,  for  he 
knew  well  Freneau  would  not  want  her.  She  was  so 
clinging,  so  sweet.  She  was  a  part  of  the  adorable  girl 
he  had  loved.  If  he  had  been  certain  of  her  happiness 
he  might  have  let  her  fade  from  his  mind,  but  a  fear 
had  always  rankled  with  a  thorn-prick. 

Did  she  know,  would  she  know  that  he  meant  to  lav 
ish  the  love  that  should  have  been  hers  on  the  child? 
What  was  that  country  like?  Surely  the  soul  could 


248        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

not  linger  in  the  grave,  and  if  it  was  given  to  one  to 
have  glimpses  of  those  left  behind,  she  must  rejoice. 

With  his  heart  so  engrossed  he  could  not  think,  in 
deed,  was  not  tempted  to  a  strong  feeling  for  any  other 
woman.  Barbe  was  pretty  and  sweet — young  men 
were  attracted  to  her — and  he  felt  quite  old  compared 
with  her.  Then  there  was  so  much  business  to  occupy 
him,  and  presently  Barbe  was  married  without  a  sigh 
of  regret  on  his  part. 

The  little  jealous  feeling  Renee  displayed  rather 
amused  him.  He  hardly  understood  the  child's  pas 
sionate  fondness,  but  was  not  her  exclusive  love  some 
thing  she  inherited  from  her  mother?  He  liked  to 
think  so. 

Now  she  was  half  woman  and  still  kept  the  child's 
eager  fondness.  She  had  no  real  lovers,  even  if  she 
had  been  asked  in  marriage.  And  he  did  not  want  to 
give  her  up.  When  he  sat  in  the  fascinating  blaze  of 
the  log  fire  and  steeped  his  brain  in  the  haze  of  his  pipe, 
visions  stole  softly  about  him.  He  saw  Renee  a  happy 
wife,  the  mother  of  sweet,  enchanting  children  who 
would  climb  his  knees,  half  strangle  him  with  baby 
arms  and  press  soft  faces  against  his,  prattle  of  their 
love  in  turn.  No,  she  must  never  go  away.  And 
who  would  he  like  as  well  as  Andre ! 

And  she  liked  him,  too,  in  spite  of  her  wilful  manner 
of  flouting  him.  She  was  ready  enough  to  put  him  in 
the  face  of  any  imaginary  danger.  He  was  a  fine,  gen 
erous,  wholesome  young  fellow,  with  a  good  business. 
And  he,  Denys,  could  wait.  He  was  not  in  so  great  a 
hurry  to  share  Renee,  but  he  felt  there  was  no  life,  no 
joy  to  a  woman  comparable  with  wifehood  and  moth 
erhood.  And  he  wanted  his  darling  to  have  the  best 
of  everything. 


RIVALS  249 

She  was  very  quiet  the  next  morning  and  stole  furtive 
glances  at  him,  too  proud  to  make  any  inquiry  as  to 
whether  he  had  passed  a  pleasant  evening.  After  break 
fast  Andre  came  with  a  face  of  eager  light,  and  yet  per 
plexity. 

"What  is  it  now  ?"  asked  Denys. 

"Matter  enough.  I  am  divided  in  two.  I  have  just 
had  an  offer — command,  I  might  say.  And  whether 
I  am  to  take  it — "  looking  up  with  uncertainty. 

"Beating  about  a  bush  doesn't  always  thresh  off  nuts. 
There  is  the  right  season,"  and  a  glint  of  humor  crossed 
the  elder's  face.  "Is  there  a  pretty  girl  in  it?" 

Was  the  world  running  after  pretty  girls?  Renee 
frowned. 

"You  would  not  like  me  to  go  away,  ma'm'selle?" 

A  sudden  hope  had  rendered  him  incautious. 

"It  makes  no  difference  to  me,"  she  replied  coldly. 

"What  is  it  all  about?"  inquired  Denys.  "Where 
were  you  last  night,  that  you  are  so  incoherent  this 
morning?" 

"In  the  counting  house  with  M'sieu  Pierre  Chouteau. 
In  about  ten  days  he  starts  for  New  Orleans,  and  must 
take  some  one  with  him.  He  proposes  the  post  to  me." 

Denys  gave  a  side  glance  at  Renee.  Her  face  was 
cold,  impenetrable.  Clearly  she  was  not  in  love,  much 
as  she  liked  Andre. 

"Come  in  the  shop !"  exclaimed  Denys. 

They  seated  themselves  on  bales  of  furs,  done  up 
ready  to  be  transferred  to  the  boats. 

"It  is  a  high  compliment,  Andre.  And  it  may  not 
be  a  bad  thing  for  a  young  fellow  to  see  a  little  of  the 
world  and  learn  how  to  make  money  in  different  ways. 
It's  a  much  gayer  place  than  this.  And  you  will  be  in 
good  hands." 


zso      A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"But — M.  Denys,  I  do  not  want  to  go." 

The  young  fellow's  face  was  scarlet,  and  his  eyes  were 
full  of  unspoken  hope  mingled  with  fear. 

"And  why  not,  Andre  Valbonais?" 

"Oh,  you  must  know,  you  must  have  guessed  that  I 
love  Ma'm'selle  Renee.  Ever  since  last  winter  I  have 
known  that  all  my  heart  was  hers,  that  I  would  not  be 
satisfied  until  I  had  won  her  for  a  wife.  And  I  do  not 
think — you  are  averse " 

He  looked  so  frank  and  sincere  and  honorable  under 
the  elder's  scrutiny,  though  his  face  was  flushed  and  the 
lines  about  his  mouth  were  quivering. 

Denys  took  his  arm.  There  was  something  better 
than  a  smile  on  the  face,  a  tender  approval. 

"No,"  Denys  replied  in  a  tone  that  went  to  the  young 
man's  heart.  "I  have  had  a  little  dream  of  the  future. 
There  is  no  one  in  St.  Louis  I  would  so  soon  take  as  a 
son.  For  look  you,  Andre,  I  do  not  want  to  give  her  up. 
The  man  who  weds  her  must  come  here,  must  put  up 
with  me  as  I  grow  old  and  full  of  whims.  I  cannot  be 
shut  out  of  her  happiness.  I  will  tell  you  that  I  had  a 
brief  few  months'  love  with  her  mother,  and  a  dream 
like  this.  Her  father  parted  us.  The  child  is  as  dear 
to  me  as  if  my  blood  ran  in  her  veins,  and  her  happiness 
is  my  whole  study.  If  you  can  win  her  I  shall  be  con 
tent.  But  women  have  to  wait  for  a  time  to  love.  And 
it  is  not  her  time." 

"But  if  I  should  go  away — "  The  young  fellow 
drew  a  long,  sorrowing  breath. 

"It  might  be  best,  so  that  you  come  back." 

"I  must  stay  all  winter.  And  if  some  one  else  wins 
her?"  he  questioned  anxiously. 

"That  would  be  a  grief  to  me.  I  shall  try  not  to 
have  it  happen.  Oh,  you  can  trust  me;  only  I  shall 


RIVALS  251 

not  force  her  inclination.  But  there  is  some  comfort 
to  take  with  you  in  my  full  consent." 

"You  think,  then,  I  had  better  go?"  reluctantly. 

"It  is  not  every  day  a  friend  like  M.  Chouteau  is 
given  to  a  young  man.  And,"  with  a  vague  smile, 
"you  may  even  advance  your  suit  by  going.  If  she 
should  miss  you,  so  much  the  better.  You  have  given 
her  a  great  deal  of  devotion,  perhaps  too  much.  There 
are  some  gifts  that  are  not  appreciated  if  they  come 
too  easily." 

Andre  Valbonais  felt  as  if  his  dream  had  been  dashed 
to  fragments  like  a  bit  of  glass.  He  had  resolved  he 
would  not  go  away ;  he  would  marry  Renee.  Yet  down 
in  his  heart  he  knew  she  did  not  love  him  with  the  fer 
vor  of  a  sweetheart.  But  that  might  come  when  she 
understood  how  much  in  earnest  he  was,  and  that  her 
guardian  really  wished  for  the  marriage.  Yet,  much 
as  he  wished  for  it,  he  would  not  spoil  his  darling's  life 
by  any  over-persuasion. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  fine  chance.  You  will  be  the  envy  of 
the  town.  And — I  trust  you  to  come  back  as  honorable 
as  you  go.  A  year  soon  passes." 

"It  will  be  hard  to  go  without  speaking." 

"It  will  do  no  good."  Denys  shook  his  head.  "Trust 
me.  I  have  seen  more  of  womankind." 

"Then  I  must  be  off.  I  asked  to  consult  you,  and  I 
have  your  answer." 

"Yes,  yes !     Go,  by  all  means." 

Renee  was  in  her  room,  moving  articles  about  in  an 
aimless  fashion,  wondering  how  Barbe  had  looked  and 
what  she  had  said.  She  need  not  have  worried.  There 
were  a  dozen  other  neighbors,  ready  to  talk  of  the  nar 
row  escape  and  compare  their  own  town  with  the  larger 
one. 


25*       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

Now  and  then  she  had  exchanged  a  word  with 
Denys,  but  it  seemed  as  if  every  one  talked  at  once. 
He  had  in  his  mind  the  picture  she  made  in  the  morn 
ing,  but  she  did  not  look  like  that  now.  There  were 
lines  of  care  in  her  face,  and  the  prettiness  had  deep 
ened  into  womanly  beauty. 

Not  a  question  about  her  did  Renee  ask.  After  din 
ner  she  took  some  sewing  and  went  to  Madame  Mar- 
chand's,  as  she  often  did.  Frangois  had  been  to  the 
wharf,  hurriedly  constructed  again,  to  see  when  the 
boats  were  likely  to  go  down  the  river,  since  it  was  now 
considered  safe.  Andre  Valbonais  had  told  him  he 
was  going. 

"He  came  to  see  uncle  this  morning.  I  suppose  that 
was  what  they  talked  about,"  said  Renee. 

The  voice  had  the  languor  of  indifference,  and  the  lit 
tle  face,  rather  pale  now,  betrayed  no  emotion. 

It  was  always  a  busy  time  when  a  fleet  of  boats  went 
down.  Now,  there  was  more  talk  than  usual.  Some 
of  the  stock  had  been  quite  spoiled  by  the  overflow ;  in 
deed,  not  a  little  of  it  had  been  swept  out  of  the  store 
houses  and  it  had  been  impossible  to  save  it.  But  men 
took  their  losses  philosophically;  they  would  recoup 
themselves  another  year.  And  they  now  thought  it 
wisdom  to  build  higher  up,  and  leave  the  muddy  bank 
to  itself. 

Andre  was  very  busy,  and  truth  to  tell,  rather  down 
hearted.  He  had  been  buoyant ;  it  was  his  nature.  But 
as  he  faced  the  actual  now,  and  the  careless  demeanor 
of  Renee,  he  felt  like  one  roused  from  a  dream  and 
swung  to  the  opposite  verge.  No,  she  did  not  care 
for  him.  Yet  she  had  been  so  sweet  at  times!  He 
was  in  and  out.  Mere  Lunde  was  full  of  regrets.  She 
was  old  and  might  never  see  him  again.  Renee  said 


RIVALS  253 

carelessly,  "We  shall  all  miss  you.  I  don't  know  what 
uncle  would  do  if  he  did  not  have  M'sieu  Mar- 
chand." 

She  and  Madame  Marchand  had  gone  to  the  Re- 
nauds',  as  was  proper.  Wawataysee  was  charmed  with 
the  little  Angelique,  and  they  found  Madame  Gardepier 
quite  different  from  the  women  of  the  town,  except 
some  of  the  higher  ladies  in  the  government  circles, 
though  she  was  very  sweet  and  gracious. 

Renee's  heart  swelled  with  a  great  jealousy.  Barbe 
was  beautiful  and  grand,  she  could  not  deny  it.  Her 
voice  had  a  lingering  cadence,  like  a  rivulet  in  some 
forest  depth,  as  if  she  might  coax  the  heart  out  of 
one.  Renee  steeled  hers  in  a  sort  of  desperation.  Sure 
ly  she  was  distanced.  She  could  not  contend  against 
these  charms,  any  more  than  she  could  deny  them.  All 
her  life  was  suddenly  set  in  the  shade. 

So  she  could  not  feel  much  sorrow  for  Andre's 
going  away;  her  own  filled  all  her  heart.  He  might 
have  thought  her  quiet  a  sign  of  it,  but  his  eyes  seemed 
to  have  been  curiously  opened. 

''You  will  give  me  good  wishes?"  he  said  the  last 
evening  he  came.  "And — will  you  not  say  that  you 
shall  miss  me?" 

"Of  course,  I  shall  miss  you,"  but  the  dreariness  in 
the  tone  was  not  for  him.  "I  shall  be  so  much  alone." 

"M.  Denys  will  be  here — "     He  was  a  little  puzzled. 

"Oh,  yes'l     But,  then " 

"Renee,"  impetuously,  "you  have  some  sorrow.  You 
are  not  like  yourself.  What  has  happened  ?" 

"Yes,  I  have  some  sorrow  in  my  heart.  I  cannot 
tell  any  one,"  and  the  red  lips  quivered. 

"And  you  were  so  gay  a  little  while  ago.  Oh,  my 
darling — "  His  full  heart  overflowed  in  his  face, 


254      A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

She  held  up  her  hand  in  entreaty.  "Don't,"  she  said 
in  a  half-irritated  way.  "I  shall  never  be  any  one's 
darling  again.  And,"  in  something  of  her  old  imperi 
ous  tone,  "if  I  cannot  have  the  love  I  want  I  will  not 
have  any!" 

He  looked  at  her  in  amaze.  Did  she  love  some  one 
else,  then  ?  He  was  suddenly  stunned.  That  had  never 
entered  his  thoughts. 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed  with  a  burst  of  feeling,  "you 
have  been  very  good  to  me,  Andre.  You  rescued  me 
in  that  dreadful  peril,  and  I  shall  always  be  grateful. 
And  I  wish  you  prosperity  and  happiness." 

Then  she  vanished  from  the  garden  and  shut  herself 
in  her  room.  When  Uncle  Gaspard  begged  her  to  come 
out,  as  this  was  Andre's  last  evening,  she  said  her  head 
ached  and  she  could  not  bear  the  sound  of  voices. 

They  went  down  to  see  the  boats  off,  and  the  air  was 
almost  rent  with  good  wishes.  This  was  always  a 
great  occasion.  There  in  the  foremost  one  was  M. 
Pierre  Chouteau  and  Andre  beside  him,  both  waving 
their  hands  in  response  to  the  "Bon  voyage!"  from  a 
hundred  throats.  The  Colonel  stood  beside  his  mother, 
who  was  a  proud  and  happy  woman,  and  who  chatted 
in  a  charming  fashion  with  her  friends  and  had  singled 
out  Barbe,  it  seemed,  who  had  come  with  her  niece 
Sophie. 

The  line  rounded  the  curve  and  began  to  take  in  the 
turn,  and  the  sailors'  shouts  were  mere  echoes.  To-day 
the  water  was  tranquil  enough,  and  the  heavens  so  blue 
that  all  the  atmosphere  had  an  extraordinary  brilliance. 

Madame  Chouteau  invited  some  of  the  friends  to 
come  and  dine  with  her. 

"I  do  not  want  to,"  Renee  said,  shrinking  back.  "But 
you  go,  Uncle  Gaspard,  and  take  my  excuse.  I  am 


RIVALS  255 

not  well.  I  shall  go  to  bed  and  make  Mere  Lunde 
doctor  me,  and  be  right  by  to-morrow." 

What  was  the  matter  with  the  child  ?  She  had  grown 
pale  and  heavy-eyed.  He  had  been  much  engrossed 
with  the  boats  and  Andre's  perplexity,  and  the  im 
pression  that  she  desired  to  evade  him,  so  he  had  made 
it  easy  for  her  to  do  so.  But  if  she  were  going  to  be 
ill! 

She  threaded  her  way  homeward  and  sat  for  awhile 
under  her  favorite  tree,  looking  at  the  vision  of  Barbe 
smiling  and  Uncle  Gaspard  listening  to  her  attractive 
manner  of  talking  and  smiling  back.  For  all  the  sum 
mer  sunshine  she  was  cold,  and  her  temples  throbbed 
with  a  dull  pain.  She  did  not  want  to  cry  outwardly, 
but  within  her  heart  seemed  weeping  bitter  tears,  and 
its  beating  was  like  the  dull  thud  of  pounding  on  lead. 

She  startled  Mere  Lunde  when  she  came  in  so  wan 
and  spiritless.  The  good  woman  steeped  some  herbs, 
and  she  did  really  go  to  bed.  Uncle  Gaspard  did  not 
get  home  until  almost  supper-time,  and  some  trappers 
were  in  the  shop  dickering  about  pelts. 

He  came  and  sat  on  the  side  of  the  bed  presently  and 
held  her  hands,  wondering  if  it  was  a  cold,  and  recall 
ing  the  fact  that  he  had  heard  there  were  some  cases 
of  fever  about. 

She  was  very  languid  for  several  days.  He  was 
down  at  the  levee,  supervising  some  of  the  new  work; 
indeed,  it  seemed  as  if  he  was  in  great  demand.  She 
would  curl  herself  up  in  the  big  chair  at  the  corner  of 
the  fireplace,  not  on  account  of  the  cold,  for  the  door 
stood  open,  as  well  as  the  heavy  shutters,  and  the  sun 
shine  stole  in  the  room,  dancing  about  on  the  floor  like 
groups  of  sprites.  Mere  Lunde  would  nod  in  her  chair. 
Chloe  was  out  in  the  garden,  working.  It  was  so  quiet, 


256       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

the  very  silence  appealed  strangely  to  her,  and  her 
mind  wandered  off  to  the  future. 

Some  day  Barbe  would  come  here  from  the  church 
leaning  on  Uncle  Gaspard's  arm  and  looking  up  in 
his  face  with  smiles,  holding  her  pretty  child  by  the 
hand.  He  would  love  it  as  he  had  loved  her.  He 
would  carry  it  in  his  arms  and  hold  it  on  his  knee, 
listen  to  its  chatter,  just  as  he  had  done  with  her.  And 
Barbe  would  have  dozens  of  different  graces  and  pretty 
ways  to  lure  him  continually.  Where  would  she,  Re- 
nee,  be?  Not  pushed  aside,  but  left  to  her  own  de 
vices,  dropped  out,  half  forgotten. 

She  wiped  away  some  tears  that  overflowed  her  eyes. 
When  Andre  came  back,  if  he  wanted  her  she  would 
marry  him.  It  was  comforting  to  think  some  one 
might  want  her.  And  if  he  never  came  back,  if  some 
pretty  girl  in  New  Orleans  attracted  him — ah,  then, 
she  would  be  lonely,  indeed !  Perhaps  this  was  the  way 
her  mother  had  felt  in  the  old  chateau.  And  her  grand 
father  had  wanted  her  put  in  a  convent — perhaps  it 
would  have  been  better. 

If  youth  can  make  pleasures  of  its  own,  it  can  also 
make  bitter  sorrows,  and  in  its  waywardness  longs  to 
drain  the  cup  to  the  last  drop.  Perhaps  there  may  be 
some  strength  in  the  very  bitterness,  a  tonic  to  work  a 
cure. 

Gaspard  Denys  came  in  and  found  her  there,  picked 
her  up,  and,  seating  himself,  pressed  her  to  his  broad 
breast  and  encircled  her  with  his  arms.  What  an  ex 
quisite  shelter  it  was ! 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  he  asked.  "You  were 
never  ill  but  once  before,  and  that  was  the  cold.  But 
now  you  do  not  seem  to  improve.  I  wonder  if  you 
would  like  to  have  a  change  ?  It  is  dull,  now  that  An- 


RIVALS  257 

dre  is  away,  and  I  am  so  busy.  Madame  Renaud  and 
Madame  Gardepier  are  coming  over  to-morrow.  And 
if  you  would  like  to  spend  a  few  days  with  them " 

"Oh,  no !     I  am  content  here,"  in  a  quick  tone. 

"Then  some  day  we  could  go  up  the  river  and  take 
our  dinner.  Some  of  the  young  people  might  like  to 
join.  Sophie  Pion  is  so  gay  and  good-humored." 

"I  like  the  quiet,"  she  returned  languidly. 

"But  it  is  not  good  for  you,  unless  you  were  really 
ill." 

"I  shall  be  better  soon.  I  walked  out  in  the  garden 
to-day." 

"That  is  right.  I  can't  think  what  could  have 
brought  this  about.  Come,  you  must  cheer  up  and  be 
like  your  olden  self.  It  makes  my  heart  ache  to  have 
you  so  dreary." 

"Oh,  does  it  really  ache  for  me?  Then  I  must  try. 
Yes,  I  will  try,"  in  a  more  cheerful  tone. 

"That  is  my  own  little  girl,"  and  he  kissed  her  fondly. 
Yes,  he  would  always  love  her  in  a  way. 

The  guests  came  up  the  next  day.  Madame  Renaud 
was  always  bright  and  cheery.  Madame  Gardepier 
brought  her  little  girl,  who  ran  about  and  prattled  and 
was  like  a  bit  of  sunshine,  sitting  a  moment  in  Mere 
Lunde's  lap,  then  off  again  chasing  the  two  half-grown 
kittens. 

Barbe  was  very  charming  and  gracious  and  had  a 
good  deal  to  tell  about  New  Orleans,  and  thought 
M'sieu  Valbonais  would  enjoy  it  very  much,  though  no 
doubt  he  would  long  for  the  old  friends  and  associa 
tions.  And  was  he  not  coming  back  in  a  year? 

Renee  admitted  without  any  change  of  color  that  he 
was.  There  was  no  half  secret  in  her  face. 

"And  now  you  must  see  Ma'm'selle  Renee's  room," 


258       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

exclaimed  Madame  Renaud.  "It  is  just  full  of  pretti- 
ness  and  ingenuity." 

Renee  led  the  way,  and  if  admiration  could  have 
lightened  her  heart,  surely  all  the  heaviness  would  have 
vanished.  They  were  very  cordial,  and  quite  insisted 
upon  having  a  whole  day's  visit  from  her.  Uncle 
Gaspard  promised  that  she  should  surely  come. 

As  they  were  walking  down  the  street  Barbe  said : 
"She  does  look  poorly.  I  suppose  she  has  been  fret 
ting  after  M.  Valbonais." 

"I  really  wonder  that  Gaspard  let  him  go.  There 
was  no  reason  why  they  should  not  marry." 

"And  she  has  some  fortune  of  her  own.  Why,  yes, 
she  could  have  gone  with  him.  I  hope  he  will  not  for 
get  her.  There  are  so  many  attractive  women  there." 

Wawataysee  studied  her  earnestly  a  few  days  after 
ward,  when  she  had  been  sitting  in  silence. 

"What  has  changed  you  so,  Renee  ?"  she  asked  with 
much  solicitude.  "There  is  a  surmise  in  the  air  that  you 
are  grieving  after  Andre.  What  happened  between 
you?  For  I  know  he  loved  you  sincerely." 

"I  grieving?"  Then  Renee's  face  went  scarlet  and 
she  could  hardly  refrain  from  tears.  "It  is  not  Andre. 
I  seldom  think  of  him.  Oh,  how  cruel  and  unjust !  And 
it  is  not  true." 

"But  something  troubles  you,"  in  a  tender  tone. 

Renee  was  silent. 

"And  you  never  have  been  so  unhappy  before.  Why 
do  you  not  tell  your  uncle?" 

"No,  I  cannot,"  and  Renee  shivered. 

"Then,  dear,  why  not  go  to  the  good  father?  I 
should  if  I  had  any  sorrows.  But  what  can  I  have  to 
pain  me,  with  such  a  good  husband  and  my  lovely 
children,  who  are  like  angels?  And  Father  Lemoine 


RIVALS  259 

said  last  month,  'Madame,  your  confession  is  a  thanks 
giving  instead.'  He  is  so  kindly,  that  Father  Lemoine. 
But  you  must  find  some  relief,  or  you  will  waste  quite 
away." 

"I  shall  get  well  at  once.  I  will  not  have  people 
quoting  me  as  a  love-siclc  girl,"  a  little  resentfully. 

Still  Wawataysee  looked  doubtfully  at  her.  She  tried 
to  be  more  cheerful  that  evening,  and  Uncle 
Gaspard  smiled  and  called  her  his  little  girl. 
Would  he  always  love  her?  She  dared  not  ask  him 
now.  When  she  had  sorrowed  for  him  in  his  long 
absence  it  had  been  a  comfort  to  go  up  to  the  little 
church  and  pray.  But  would  it  not  be  monstrous  to 
ask  God  to  keep  Uncle  Denys  from  loving  Barbe  ?  She 
was  lovely  and  kind,  and  merry  too,  for  that  matter, 
and  if  Uncle  Denys " 

Ah,  there  was  the  sting ! 

There  crept  into  her  heart  a  curious  dull  ache,  a 
sense  of  something  she  did  not  like,  that  she  shrank 
from,  just  as  one  shuts  one's  eyes  to  some  unpleasant 
sight.  And  this  time  it  was  not  Barbe.  Some  one 
nearer,  one  that  she  was  answerable  for,  and  she  did 
not  like  the  half  consciousness.  She  had  believed  the 
sorrow  all  hers.  What  if  it  was  wrong  to  cherish  it 
and  make  it  another's  sorrow? 

She  went  up  to  the  church  one  afternoon.  There  was 
no  one  about.  The  confessional  stood  open.  She 
thought  she  would  pray,  and  then  she  recalled  a  sen 
tence,  "Clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart."  Was  her  heart 
pure,  not  desiring  what  might  belong  to  another  ?  And 
if  she  snatched  at  it  with  over-eager  hands  and  a  selfish 
heart  ? 

She  went  out  quietly  and  sat  on  the  grass.  The  soft 
wind  just  stirred  the  trees  and  brought  wafts  of  per- 


260       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

fume  and  the  distant  sound  of  the  voices  of  children 
at  play.  The  sun  was  casting  long  shadows  and  bur 
nishing  the  tree-tops  out  on  the  fields.  A  few  insects 
were  lazily  droning. 

A  figure  came  out  in  the  rusty  black  cassock  with 
the  cord  around  the  waist,  and  the  little  round  cap, 
where  a  few  straggling  locks,  much  threaded  with 
white,  fell  below  in  a  half-curling  fashion.  He  glanced 
her  way,  then  came  over  to  her  and  she  rose  with  a 
reverent  obeisance. 

"It  is  Ma'm'selle  de  Longueville.  You  were  little 
Renee.  I  remember  when  you  used  to  come  and  pray 
for  your  uncle  that  he  might  be  returned  in  safety.  Is 
there  nothing  left  to  pray  for  ?" 

The  tone  was  wonderfully  sweet,  and  the  eyes  gave 
her  such  a  kindly,  tender  glance  that  her  heart  melted 
within  her. 

"I  went  in  the  church,"  she  began  in  a  low  tone.  "I 
was  troubled  about  something.  I  could  not  find  the 
right  prayer.  There  may  be  a  need  before  the  prayer," 
and  her  voice  trembled  like  a  quivering  note  of  music. 

''Then  let  us  go  in  and  find  it,  daughter,"  and  he 
took  her  hand  in  his  and  gently  led  her  back.  She 
knelt  in  silence.  The  kindly  hands  were  folded  on  her 
head  in  blessing. 

What  was  it  she  wanted  to  say  ?  "If  one  so  coveted 
a  love  that  it  brought  unhappiness  if  it  was  shared  with 
any  one  else ;  if  one  had  been  first  for  years,  and  found 
another  in  the  place,  and  then — "  The  sorrowful  voice 
broke.  It  was  flooded  with  tears  and  soft  sobs. 

"Is  it  a  lover  that  has  cast  longing  eyes  on  another  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  no !"  And  then  the  poor  little  story  came 
out  in  an  incoherent  fashion.  It  was  selfish,  it  was 
covetous,  it  was  unjust.  She  saw  that,  now  that  she 


RIVALS  261 

put  it  in  words,  and  it  sent  a  pang  of  shame  and  an 
guish  through  her  whole  being.  Was  this  the  return 
for  all  the  affection  he  had  given  ? 

"Child,"  said  the  low,  sweet  voice,  "I  think  he  will 
not  love  thee  less  because  another  comes  into  his  heart. 
It  is  a  good,  generous  heart.  I  know  it  well.  And 
thou  must  cast  out  the  selfish  fear  and  give  love  for 
love.  God  shares  His  with  all  His  creatures,  and  asks 
first  a  devoted  heart,  then  the  wide  love  for  one's  neigh 
bor.  No  grudging  heart  ever  yet  had  peace.  And 
the  more  happiness  one  scattereth  the  more  returneth 
to  thee.  The  more  Christlike  thy  heart  becomes,  the 
greater  will  be  thy  desire  to  do  for  others,  and  in  this 
will  come  the  recompense.  Trust  thy  God  and  then 
thy  trust  will  grow  in  all  His  creatures.  Narrow  thy 
life,  and  when  the  one  light  fails  all  will  be  darkness. 
Thou  hast  gone  but  a  little  way  forward  and  there  are 
many  lessons  to  learn  before  thou  wilt  reach  the  end, 
but  the  divinest  of  all  is  unselfish  love." 

Could  she  be  brave  enough  to  put  aside  her  own  in 
tense,  selfish  love?  If  another  love  made  Uncle  Gas- 
pard  happier 

They  went  out  on  the  step  of  the  old  church  porch, 
and  he  said:  "You  will  come  again,  daughter?"  And 
she  replied :  "I  will  come  every  day  and  pray  for  a  new 
heart." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  FINE  ADJUSTMENT. 

GASPARD  DENYS  was  out  by  the  gate  waiting,  quite 
at  a  loss  to  know  what  could  keep  his  little  girl,  and 
wondering  what  had  made  her  so  quiet  and  indifferent 
of  late.  Had  she  really  cared  more  for  Andre  than 
she  knew  ?  She  must  miss  him,  of  course,  for  although 
he  had  touches  of  sentiment  now  and  then,  he  was 
bright  and  very  much  given  to  the  amusing  rather  than 
the  serious  side  of  every-day  occurrences.  But  he  was 
earnest  enough  where  that  quality  was  needed.  And 
he  had  been  Renee's  devoted  slave. 

Her  hands  were  clasped,  her  shoulders  drooped  a  lit 
tle  and  her  step  was  slow.  Gaspard  went  to  meet  her, 
touched  by  the  piteotisness  of  her  aspect. 

"My  little  darling " 

She  had  not  been  exactly  weeping,  but  her  eyes  had 
filled  and  overflowed.  He  would  not  have  seen  it  in 
the  gathering  darkness,  but  he  kissed  amid  the  tears 
on  her  cheek. 

"Renee,  where  have  you  been?"  in  a  gentle  tone. 
"You  were  not  at  the  Marchands'." 

"I  was  up  at  the  church  with  Father  Lemoine." 

Had  she  some  confidence  to  give  the  priest  that  she 
withheld  from  him?  And  he  thought  he  knew  all  her 
simple  heart. 

"Renee,  what  is  the  matter?  You  are  not  happy. 
You  are  not  really  ill,  either.  Something  troubles 
you." 


A  FINE  ADJUSTMENT  263 

The  girl  was  silent,  but  he  heard  her  fluttering 
breath.  He  took  her  hand  in  his.  It  was  cold  and 
spiritless.  It  did  not  curl  about  his  fingers  in  her  usual 
caressing  fashion. 

"Has  some  one  grown  nearer  and  dearer  than  I? 
You  need  not  be  afraid " 

"Oh,  no,  it  is  not  that !  No  one  is  so  dear.  And  if 
I  lost  you — "  Oh,  she  did  not  mean  to  say  it,  and 
stopped  in  her  slow  pacing. 

"You  are  not  likely  to  lose  me.  Who  has  been  filling 
your  head  with  nonsense?" 

His  tone  was  a  little  sharp. 

"No  one  is  to  blame.  It  was  all  my  fault.  I  have 
been  selfish  and  grudging  and" — it  burst  out  vehement 
ly— "jealous  !" 

He  smiled,  and  was  glad  the  purple  gray  of  the  wan 
ing  light  would  not  betray  it  to  her  wounding.  It  was 
the  old  story,  Barbe  Guion  again. 

"My  dear  little  girl — "  he  began  with  infinite  ten 
derness,  clasping  his  strong  arm  around  her. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,"  she  interrupted  hurriedly,  "it 
is  right,  and  just  now  I  have  the  courage.  I  don't 
mean  ever  to  be  so  selfish  again.  It  is  wicked  and  un 
grateful,  and  if  anything  can  make  you  happier,  I 
shall — try  to  rejoice  in  it." 

And  he  knew  she  swallowed  over  a  great  lump  in  her 
throat.  He  was  deeply  touched  as  well. 

"It  is  very  wicked  and  selfish,  but  I  couldn't  bear  to 
think  of  your  loving  any  one  else,  and  when  Madame 
Gardepier  came  back  so  pretty  and  attractive,  and — and 
you  liked  her  so,  it  made  me  very  miserable.  I  did  not 
want  her  to  come  here  to  be  mistress,  to  have  your 
love,  to  be  first  everywhere,  but  I  know  now  how  odi 
ous  and  hateful  it  was,  and  I  am  sorry,  when  you  have 


264       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

always  been  so  good  to  me.  And,  Uncle  Gaspard,  if 
you  want  to  marry  Barbe  and  bring  her  here  and  be 
happy  with  her,  I  will  be  content  and  not  envy  her  for 
your  sake " 

She  was  sobbing  softly  then.  He  had  his  arm  around 
her  and  led  her  through  the  open  gate  to  the  little  arbor 
of  wild  grape  vines  and  honeysuckle  that  was  always 
in  bloom,  a  nest  of  fragrance  now  that  the  dew  had 
begun  to  fall.  He  drew  her  very  close  to  him  and  let 
her  sob  out  her  sorrow  and  penitence.  How  simply 
heroic  she  was  to  give  up  a  part  of  the  best  thing  in  her 
life,  for  he  knew,  as  he  had  believed  before,  that  Val- 
bonais's  love  had  not  found  the  path  to  her  heart. 

"I  was  so  miserable,"  she  went  on  tremulously,  "and 
I  thought  T  would  go  to  the  church  and  pray  as  I  used, 
when  I  asked  God  to  send  you  back.  Then  I  met  the 
good  father.  And  now  I  am  going  to  begin.  I  shall 
not  be  unhappy  any  more,  at  least  I  shall  strive  against 
it.  And  I  want  you — yes,"  catching  her  breath,  "I 
want  you  to  have  whatever  pleases  you  best." 

For  a  moment  or  two  so  deep  was  his  emotion  he 
could  not  steady  his  own  voice.  And  as  he  held  her 
there,  felt  the  beating  of  her  heart,  the  agitation  of  her 
slim  figure,  the  sobs  she  was  trying  to  control,  a  pas 
sion  of  tenderness  swept  over  him  and  almost  a  desire 
to  claim  her  as  his  and  let  her  rest  henceforth  in  the 
proud  security  of  entire  love.  Yes,  she  would  marry 
him  if  he  said  the  word.  But  much  as  she  loved  him 
it  would  never  be  that  highest  of  all  wifely  love.  She 
was  still  a  child,  and  he  was  more  than  double  her  age. 
He  stood  in  the  place  of  a  father,  and  there  would  be 
a  question  if  the  legal  relationship  would  not  be  a  bar 
in  the  sight  of  the  Church. 

And — Barbe?     He  was  much  interested  in  her  and 


A  FINE  ADJUSTMENT  265 

had  a  secret  sympathy  with  her.  Her  eyes  had  con 
fessed  to  him  that  her  marriage  had  not  been  satisfac 
tory.  If  he  stood  quite  alone,  perhaps  that  might  be 
the  ending  presently,  but  it  was  no  plan  of  his  now, 
no  desire,  even. 

Ah,  Renee,  you  did  not  know  what  an  unconscious 
rival  you  were !  Barbe  understood  the  situation  much 
better,  but  she  had  a  woman's  wisdom. 

It  had  all  passed  through  his  mind  like  a  flash. 

"My  little  dear,"  he  said,  toying  with  the  soft  hair, 
"set  your  heart  at  rest.  I  had  not  thought  of  marry 
ing  Barbe.  And  I  could  never  give  you  up." 

"But — if  you  were  going  to  be  happier " 

"I  am  quite  an  old  fellow  now.  I  like  my  own  way. 
A  smoke  in  the  chimney  corner  is  my  delight,  and  a 
little  girl  who  sits  there  weaving  pictures  and  adven 
tures  in  the  blaze.  I  am  happy  enough." 

Her  heart  gave  a  great  bound.  How  could  she  help 
delighting  in  the  confession!  But  that  was  selfish 
again.  She  would  hold  this  exquisite  pleasure  on  suf 
ferance. 

"Yes,  I  am  happy  enough  at  present.  But  I  should 
like  my  little  girl  to  marry  some  one  who  could  be  a 
son  to  me  in  my  old  age,  who  would  not  want  to  take 
her  away,  and  we  would  keep  step  together  when  we 
turned  the  summit  of  the  hill  and  were  going  down  the 
decline.  Only  I  shall  have  to  sit  on  the  top  a  good 
while  waiting  for  you,  there  are  so  many  years  be 
tween." 

There  was  almost  a  merry  sound  in  his  voice. 

"And  now  is  the  unhappiness  all  gone?"  pressing  her 
fondly  to  his  side. 

"There  is  the  shame  and  regret  for  naughtiness. 
Have  I  troubled  you  a  good  deal  ?"  in  a  repentant  tone, 


266       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"It  would  have  been  worse  if  you  were  really  ill." 

"I  almost  made  myself  so.  I  did  not  think  that  it 
might  cause  you  anxiety.  You  see,  I  was  only  consid 
ering  myself  and  heaping  up  sorrow  where  there  was 
no  real  sorrow." 

"But  you  will  not  do  it  any  more  ?" 

"No,  not  any  more,"  she  answered,  with  exquisite 
tenderness. 

"And  now  shall  we  go  in?  What  do  you  suppose 
Mere  Lunde  will  say?  And  see,  it  is  quite  dark. 
There  are  two  stars." 

All  above  them  was  the  vault  of  deepest  blue,  resting 
on  the  tree-tops  or  the  vague,  far  distance  where  all 
was  indistinguishable.  The  river  lapped  along,  some 
night  birds  gave  a  shrill  cry,  and  far  off  a  whippoorwill 
was  repeating  his  mournful  lay. 

"Come."  He  lifted  her  up  in  his  strong  arms  and 
swung  her  around.  The  door  stood  wide  open,  fram 
ing  in  a  vivid  picture  of  the  hearth  fire,  the  big  empty 
chair,  Mere  Lunde  bending  over  some  cookery.  Every 
year  her  shoulders  grew  more  round  and  her  head  was 
almost  hidden  between  them. 

Renee  seemed  to  herself  like  one  in  a  dream.  She 
would  not  exult  in  this  new  possessorship.  She  would 
keep  meek  and  lowly,  remembering  her  indulgence  in 
sinful  feelings,  her  doubt  and  distrust. 

"What  has  kept  you  so?"  cried  Mere  Lunde.  "The 
fish  has  dried  to  a  crisp.  And  one  never  knows.  It 
may  be  Indians  or  wild  animals " 

"Nothing  worse  than  sitting  in  the  arbor,  talking." 

"And  the  child  not  at  all  well!  When  she  comes 
down  with  a  fever — and  she  looks  like  a  ghost  now." 

That  was  true  enough.  The  cool  air  had  added  to 
her  paleness  and  her  eyes  had  a  softness  in  their  brown 


A  FINE  ADJUSTMENT  267 

depths,  a  mysterious  expression,  as  if  she  had  not 
shaken  off  the  atmosphere  of  some  far  world. 

"Go  to  the  fire  and  warm  up,  even  if  it  is  a  summer 
night.  You  should  have  known  better  than  to  keep 
her  sitting  in  the  chill  dew,"  to  M.  Denys. 

Then  the  good  mere  made  her  drink  a  cup  of  hot 
broth. 

But  she  had  not  much  appetite.  Now  and  then  she 
stole  a  shy  glance  at  Uncle  Gaspard,  and  if  she  met 
his  eyes  a  faint  color  suffused  her  face.  The  happy, 
childlike  trust  was  coming  back.  And  though  they 
sat  together  awhile  afterward,  the  faint  glow  of  the 
dying  fire  lighting  the  room,  neither  felt  in  a  humor 
for  talking.  She  kept  half  wondering  if  it  was  true 
that  he  did  not  care  to  marry  Barbe,  half  disbelieving 
it ;  and  yet  it  did  not  give  her  the  pang  she  had  suf 
fered  from  the  cruel  jealousy  that  had  rent  her  soul. 
The  tranquillity  was  very  sweet,  very  comforting. 

She  was  singing  the  next  morning  as  she  went  about 
her  duties  a  gay  little  French  chanson  Andre  had 
taught  her,  and  her  voice  was  like  a  bird's. 

"You  are  happy  this  morning,  ma'm'selle,"  said 
Mere  Lunde,  with  fondness  in  her  old  eyes.  "Has 
there  been  news  from  the  boats?" 

"From  the  boats?"  What  had  that  to  do  with  it? 
Then  she  colored  scarlet — that  meant  Andre. 

"No,"  she  replied  gravely.  "Uncle  Gaspard  would 
have  mentioned  it  if  there  was." 

Still  the  embarrassing  tint  ran  over  her  face.  All 
this  time  had  one  and  another  been  fancying  that  she 
was  grieving  for  Andre  Valbonais?  Ah,  they  would 
see!  She  would  be  as  gay  as  before.  She  would  go 
out  with  the  girls  berrying,  and  gathering  strange  flow 
ers  that  queer  old  Doctor  Montcrevier  was  glad  to 


268       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

press  and  put  in  a  great  book  that  he  had.  They  were 
very  little  troubled  by  Indians  now,  yet  they  always 
went  in  considerable  parties,  and  Friga  was  her  guard. 

Monsieur  Denys  took  quite  a  party  up  the  river  in  the 
boat  he  had  been  building,  and  they  spent  the  night  at 
St.  Charles.  Just  beyond  was  another  bend  in  the  river, 
and  the  air  was  so  clear  they  could  discern  the  windings 
a  long  distance  up.  Everywhere  there  were  still  some 
signs  of  the  great  flood.  But  it  had  not  been  able  to 
destroy  the  frowning  bluffs,  though  it  had  left  caves  in 
different  places,  swept  some  islands  out  of  existence  or 
added  them  to  others.  The  world  was  a  beautiful 
place  when  the  elements  were  at  rest,  and  it  was  a 
blessed  thing  to  live. 

Renee  was  growing  a  little  graver,  a  little  more 
womanly  and  thoughtful,  but  Denys  wondered  at  the 
added  sweetness.  She  was  quite  a  devout  churchgoer 
now,  and  occasionally  went  up  for  a  chat  with  the 
good  father,  that  was  not  confession  exactly,  but  helped 
her  insight  in  some  of  the  greater  truths,  made  her 
more  ready  to  share  happiness  with  others. 

It  had  been  quite  a  trial  at  first  to  go  cordially  to  the 
Renauds',  though  she  did  admire  Barbe's  little  girl. 
Madame  Gardepier  was  a  person  of  some  note  now,  and 
received  invitations  to  the  Government  House,  and  was 
on  delightful  terms  with  Madame  Chouteau  and  sev 
eral  of  the  more  important  residents.  Sometimes  Un 
cle  Gaspard  and  Renee  walked  down  of  an  evening,  and 
the  young  girl  always  trembled  a  little,  Barbe  was  so 
very  charming. 

Denys  understood  that  he  could  win  her  if  he  cared. 
Was  he  really  growing  so  old  that  he  had  not  the  nec 
essary  ardor  ?  Had  that  one  youthful  love  and  sorrow 
sufficed  hirn?  He  was  touched  by  Renee's  sweet  de- 


A  FINE  ADJUSTMENT  269 

meaner  now,  though  he  could  not  see  the  quaking  heart 
behind  it. 

Monsieur  Pierre  Chouteau  came  home  to  his  family 
late  in  the  fall,  and  a  new  Lieutenant-Governor  accom 
panied  him.  There  was  strange  and  stirring  news 
from  France,  from  Spain,  even  from  the  colonies  at  the 
eatsward  which,  having  shaken  off  their  old  rulers, 
were  still  harrassed  by  Indian  wars  and  the  unwilling 
ness  of  England  to  give  up  the  places  specified  in  the 
treaties. 

They  did  not  mind  these  disputes  in  the  old  town. 
Life  ran  on  smoothly.  They  were  like  one  big  fam 
ily;  had  their  joys  and  few  sorrows  and  took  little  heed 
for  to-morrow.  There  was  the  winter  pleasure  and 
new  marriages ;  there  were  young  men  who  cast  long 
ing  eyes  at  Renee  de  Longueville,  who  would  have 
no  real  lovers.  And  now  she  was  seventeen. 

They  were  very  happy  together,  Renee  and  her  uncle. 

"She  will  marry  some  time,"  thought  the  woman  who 
longed  for  the  place  by  his  fireside  when  it  should  be 
vacant.  Renee's  demeanor  puzzled  her.  She  was  no 
longer  a  third  person.  She  often  left  them  quite  alone, 
and  when  occasion  offered  invited  Barbe  and  her  little 
girl  to  tea.  Gaspard  Denys  was  very  friendly.  He 
had  the  gift  of  being  friendly  with  women. 

The  boats  began  to  come  up.  There  was  some  word 
about  Andre.  Pierre  Chouteau  came  over  and  told 
Denys. 

"I  hope  you  will  not  be  too  much  disappointed,"  he 
said,  "but  there  is  some  important  business  on  hand 
and  he  really  cannot  be  spared.  We  made  it  an  object 
for  him  to  remain.  Indeed,  we  should  like  him  to 
take  one  of  the  head  positions  there.  He  is  a  fine, 
trusty  fellow.  He  asked  me  to  come  and  explain  to 


270       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

you,  lest  you  should  think  he  had  grown  indifferent 
about  old  friends.  But  you  need  not  fear  that." 

"We  had  counted  on  seeing  him,  but  duty  is  duty, 
and  one  ought  not  to  run  away  from  it  for  pleasure," 
replied  Denys,  approvingly. 

Renee  was  not  going  to  give  any  one  an  opportunity 
to  consider  her  a  lovelorn  maiden  this  time.  She  was 
gay  and  bright,  joining  the  pleasure  parties  and 
dancing,  ready  for  canoeing  or  rowing  about  on  the  old 
mill-pond  in  the  races.  She  never  summoned  the 
young  men  to  her  side  and  bade  them  fetch  and  carry, 
as  she  used  to  Andre ;  she  sent  her  admirers  to  this  girl 
and  that  one,  but  somehow  they  always  found  their 
way  back  and  gathered  as  bees  about  the  sweetest 
flower.  They  would  spend  whole  evenings  with  Denys 
for  the  sake  of  watching  her  as  she  sat  so  demurely 
beside  the  fire,  now  and  then  raising  her  soft  brown 
eyes  that  the  flame  seemed  to  burnish  with  gold,  or 
smiling  vaguely  at  some  conceit  of  her  own  instead  of 
what  the  visitor  said. 

When  they  were  alone  on  rare  occasions  she  would 
bring  Uncle  Gaspard  his  flute  and  often  sing  dainty 
little  songs  in  the  sweetest  voice  imaginable.  Then  he 
would  listen  and  dream  of  her  mother,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  she  came  and  sat  beside  them.  He  could  see  her 
shadowy  form,  he  believed  he  could  touch  her  with  his 
hand.  There  was  no  sin  in  loving  her  now,  since  she 
was  free  from  the  Count  de  Longueville. 

Then  came  winter  again.  Should  they  go  to  the 
king's  ball  ? 

"I'm  too  old,"  said  Uncle  Gaspard.  "I  found  a 
white  hair  in  my  beard  this  morning." 

"Oh,  think  of  the  fathers  and  grandfathers!  And 
thev  dance,  too.  Old,  indeed!" 


A  FINE  ADJUSTMENT  271 

She  shook  her  slim  finger  at  him. 

"I've  grown  lazy.  M.  Marchand  is  such  an  excellent 
partner  that  I  have  very  little  to  do." 

"Oh,  and  you  were  out  skating  a  few  days  ago  and 
distanced  many  of  the  younger  men !  I  shall  not  go 
unless  you  do,"  resolutely. 

"And  you  have  never  been  a  queen  in  your  own 
right,"  he  remarked  with  a  gleam  of  amusement.  "You 
ought  to  try  your  luck." 

"Before  /  get  old  and  have  to  wear  a  coif,"  shaking 
her  head  in  mock  despair.  "Oh,  let  us  both  go !" 

She  had  to  coax  a  good  deal  and  insist  stoutly  that 
she  would  not  stir  a  step  without  him.  And,  of  course, 
he  had  to  yield. 

She  listened  to  the  songs  and  the  solicitations, 
and  sent  Mere  Lunde  out  with  a  generous  contribu 
tion. 

This  time  she  did  not  care  so  much  about  her  gown. 
It  was  pretty  enough.  She  had  a  beautiful  necklace 
that  Mattawissa  had  given  her,  made  of  blue  and  white 
shells  that  came  from  the  southerly  Atlantic  coast  and 
were  held  in  high  esteem  among  the  Indians  and  con 
sidered  of  great  value  in  the  way  of  trade,  as  they  were 
used  in  wampums.  They  were  ground  in  a  peculiar 
fashion,  with  a  small  hole  drilled  in  them  and  strung 
on  a  chain.  In  dancing,  as  they  touched  each  other 
the  jingle  had  a  peculiar  musical  sound. 

Madame  Gardepier  and  one  of  her  nieces  cut  the 
cake  when  the  midnight  bell  sounded. 

"You  must  have  a  piece,  Renee,"  said  Madame  Elise 
Borrie,  who  was  plump  and  smiling  and  the  mother  of 
three  children.  "But,"  in  a  mischievous  whisper,  "they 
will  fight  to  be  chosen  king.  We  shall  learn  who  is 
your  favorite." 


^l^       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"I've  never  had  any  luck,"  returned  Renee  in  a  tone 
of  mock  disappointment. 

"And  I've  never  cut  the  cake  before !  Oh,  you  must 
take  a  piece  from  me !  There  will  be  luck  in  it." 

Renee  took  the  piece  laughingly,  spread  out  her 
handkerchief,  and  broke  it  in  two  or  three  fragments. 
Out  fell  the  ring. 

"Oh!  oh!  oh!"  and  there  was  a  crowd  about  her. 
She  slipped  it  on  her  finger  and  was  handed  her  nose 
gay. 

Whom  would  she  choose?  There  were  eager  eyes 
and  indrawn  breaths,  smiles  that  asked  in  wordless  lan 
guage,  young  men  crowding  nearer. 

She  went  over  to  Denys.  "You  always  were  my 
king,"  she  said  in  a  low,  sweet  tone  that  touched  him 
immeasurably.  "I  am  glad  to  give  you  the  royal  signet, 
a  rose." 

Gaspard  Denys  bowed  like  a  young  courtier. 

"You  know  I  must  have  done  it  besides  my  own  de 
sire,"  she  whispered.  "There  would  have  been  quar 
rels  and  heart  burnings." 

"Yes,"  nodding  that  he  understood. 

"Ma'm'selle  Renee,  that  is  hardly  fair,"  declared  an 
aggrieved  one.  "There  are  so  many  young  men " 

"And  other  queens,  and  a  room  full  of  pretty  girls. 
I  will  give  you  one  dance." 

His  face  lighted  up  with  joy. 

"It  will  end  by  a  marriage,  mark  my  words,"  said  the 
mother  of  three  daughters. 

"No,  it  cannot,"  returned  Madame  Gardepier,  with 
secret  exultation.  "He  was  appointed  her  uncle  and 
guardian  by  the  Church.  It  would  be  unlawful." 

"True  enough.  But  if  she  would  settle  upon  some 
one  in  earnest  the  rest  would  stand  a  chance.  I  don't 


A  FINE  ADJUSTMENT  273 

know  what  there  is  about  her.  And  she's  past  eighteen. 
It  won't  do  for  her  to  waste  many  more  years." 

Renee  and  her  uncle  danced  twice.  Then  she  said, 
with  the  persuasive  touch  in  her  voice  that  he  never 
could  resist : 

"Now  you  must  dance  with  Madame  Gardepier  and 
some  of  the  young  girls,  while  I  comfort  the  disconso 
late.  And  we  will  go  home  early." 

But  there  was  such  an  outcry  she  could  not  get  away 
so  easily.  They  were  all  as  eager  as  if  there  had  never 
been  balls  before  and  would  never  be  one  again. 

Renee  would  not  attend  the  next  one.  Gaspard 
grumbled  at  having  to  go  by  himself  and  meet  the 
storm  of  reproaches. 

"See,  I  will  tie  up  my  head — you  can  say  you  left 
me  that  way,"  and  she  passed  a  folded  handkerchief 
about  it,  that  made  her  look  more  coquettish  than  ever. 
"Now — I  might  rub  a  bit  of  garlic  over  my  eyes  and 
they  would  look  red  enough." 

Gaspard  laughed  in  spite  of  a  little  ill  humor. 

Renee  settled  herself  in  his  big  chair  and  wrapped 
her  feet  in  the  fur  robe.  How  the  wind  blew  without, 
though  the  moonless  sky  was  brilliant  with  stars.  The 
trees  writhed  and  groaned,  and  she  fancied  she  could 
hear  the  lashing  of  the  river.  Occasionally  a  gust 
blew  down  the  chimney,  driving  long  tongues  of  flame 
out  into  the  room  and  scattering  ashes  about.  But  the 
house  of  split  logs,  plastered  on  the  outside  and  within, 
was  solid  enough.  She  only  laughed  when  the  wind 
banged  up  against  it  and  had  to  depart  with  sullen 
grumbling. 

She  loved  to  sit  this  way  and  live  over  the  past. 
What  had  changed  her  so  ?  Did  wilfulness  belong  nat 
urally  to  childhood?  Or  was  it  the  lessons  she  had 


*74       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

learned  in  the  little  old  church  from  the  good  father? 
Life  was  finer  and  broader,  and  duties,  real  duties, 
were  oftentimes  a  delight — not  always,  she  admitted, 
with  a  little  twinge  of  conscience — and  there  were  sac 
rifices  of  inclination  to  be  made. 

What  a  curious,  varied  life  hers  had  been!  And 
now  it  flowed  on  tranquilly.  Would  it  always  be  this 
way?  Uncle  Gaspard  wanted  her  to  marry,  but  who 
was  there  to  suit  them  both  ?  The  pretty  mystery,  not 
quite  a  smile,  but  that  always  made  her  face  enchant 
ing,  passed  over  it  now.  This  one  and  that  one  had 
been  mentioned,  and  she  had  scouted  them  with  a 
dainty  insistence  that  always  amused  him,  though  he 
would  argue  about  their  best  points  as  if  he  was  in 
sober  earnest. 

"Sometimes  I  think  you  really  want  to  get  rid  of  me, 
Uncle  Gaspard,"  she  would  retort,  with  an  air  of  being 
provoked.  "And  what  if  I  should  never  like  any 
body?  I  wonder  if,  after  all,  when  I  am  old,  say 
thirty,  perhaps,  I  would  have  to  go  to  Quebec  and 
enter  a  convent,  like  Marie  Guion  ?" 

"Thirty !  Well,  you  are  a  good  way  from  that !  And 
I  am  a  good  way  past  it,  and  you  won't  hear  to  my 
being  old." 

Then  she  would  faugh  and  put  loving  arms  about  his 
neck,  and  he  would  think  he  did  not  mind  the  waiting. 
If  it  was  God's  will,  the  thing  he  wanted  would  come 
about;  but  if  it  was  not,  one  could  not  go  against  the 
great  All-Father,  whose  right  it  was  to  give  or  to 
deny. 

But  he  remarked  that  she  had  grown  to  like  talking 
over  the  times  when  Andre  Valbonais  had  come  to  her 
rescue  and  that  of  Wawataysee. 

"And  I  would  get  hungry  and  tired  and  cold,  and 


A  FINE  ADJUSTMENT  275 

feel  afraid  of  wild  animals  in  the  forest.  I  was  so 
little,  you  know,  and  not  wise  and  patient  like  Wawa- 
taysee.  And  I  used  to  cry  for  you.  Andre  was  very 
good  not  to  get  cross  and  scold,  now  was  he  not  ?" 

"Oh,  my  little  one,  I  never  forget  that  I  owe  him  a 
great  deal.  And  I  am  glad  he  is  prospering  so  well." 

"But  suppose  he  should  want  to  stay  in  New  Or 
leans?  It  is  so  much  gayer  and  finer  than  this  little 
St.  Louis.  Our  Place  d'Arms  is  nothing  compared 
to  that  handsome  plaza,  Barbe  says.  And  the  women 
dress  so  much,  and  there  is  the  beautiful  church,  and 
the  school  for  girls,  and  a  theatre,  and  music  every 
where  on  the  balconies.  Perhaps  he  will  never  come 
back." 

Did  she  sigh  a  little  over  her  own 'prediction  ? 

"We  can  go  there  some  day " 

"If  you  think  I  am  going  to  run  after  him,"  with  a 
charming  show  of  indignation  that  made  her  cheeks 
bloom  like  the  rose,  "you  are  far  out  of  the  way.  That 
would  be  on  every  one's  tongue.  Renee  de  Longue- 
ville  has  gone  to  New  Orleans  after  M'sieu  Valbonais, 
because  she  cannot  get  a  lover  here.  Why,  he  might 
stay  there  a  hundred  years  before  I  would  go !" 

"There  seems  to  be  no  lack  of  lovers  here.  Whether 
they  come  for  me,  or  the  good  fire,  or " 

"They  like  you,  and  they  like  to  smoke  and  ask  your 
advice.  And  don't  you  notice  that  sometimes  I  go  to 
bed,  slip  away  softly,  and  they  never  miss  me?" 

At  that  Uncle  Gaspard  would  nod,  with  an  expres 
sion  of  incredulity  in  his  eyes. 

And  on  nights  like  these,  when  she  happened  to  be 
alone,  or  in  that  long  space  of  winter  twilight  when  she 
curled  herself  up  in  the  fur  rugs  like  a  kitten,  she  used 
to  wander  off  in  reveries  about  that  almost  dream-like 


276       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

episode,  with  its  terrors,  that  made  her  shudder  even 
now,  because  she  realized  their  dangers  so  much  more 
keenly.  Oh,  what  if  Andre  had  not  found  them  ?  How 
could  they  have  taken  all  that  long  journey  with  no 
care,  no  kindly  treatment?  And  that  tall,  fierce  Black 
Feather !  He  might  have  minded  about  Wawataysee, 
who  was  of  some  value  to  him,  but  she,  a  little  child! 
And  if  Andre  had  said,  "Oh,  we  cannot  be  bothered 
with  her,  we  shall  have  to  go  so  much  slower,"  and 
they  had  stolen  away!  Some  tears  always  came  in 
her  eyes  at  this  point.  And  there  was  that  last  night, 
when  he  had  carried  her  and  she  had  slept  in  his  arms. 
Yes,  she  ought  to  be  very  grateful.  And  sometimes 
she  had  been  wilful  and  treated  him  very  badly.  Of 
course,  he  had  half- forgotten  about  her.  Was  the  girl 
beautiful  that  he  cared  the  most  for?  Did  she  dance 
with  the  grace  of  a  fairy,  and  was  her  voice  sweet  and 
seductive,  just  as  Barbe  Gardepier's  was  at  times,  a 
sound  that  both  fascinated  and  vexed  her,  the  liquid 
tone  that  made  a  man  bend  his  head  lest  he  should  lose 
a  note  of  its  sweetness?  And  her  parents  would  be 
very  gracious  to  him;  she  knew  how  charming  moth 
ers  could  be. 

After  they  had  been  married  a  long,  long  while  she 
would  go  with  Uncle  Gaspard  to  visit  them.  She  and 
Uncle  Gaspard  would  grow  old  together,  and  she  would 
have  a  stoop  in  the  shoulders  like  Mere  Lunde. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THIS   WAY  AND  THAT. 

ALL  the  world  was  abloom  and  fragrant  with  later 
spring.  The  children  were  ranging  out  on  the  great 
mound,  learning  lessons  of  the  sky,  with  all  its  varia 
tions  ;  of  the  woods,  with  their  many  kinds  of  trees ;  of 
the  flowers  that  were  budding  and  blossoming;  of  the 
river  winding  about,  guessing  at  other  rivers  and  other 
countries  and  great  lakes  and  frozen  regions  up  at  the 
far  north  where  the  white  bear  lived  and  the  beautiful 
white  and  silver  fox,  whose  fur  was  rare  and  held  in 
high  esteem.  They  peopled  it  with  strange,  fierce  In 
dians,  and  sometimes  the  boys  divided  in  two  parties 
and  fought.  The  girls  made  circles  for  wigwams,  col 
lected  dried  grass  and  sticks  and  built  fires  in  the  cen 
tre;  and  if  there  were  but  few  books  and  no  real 
schools,  they  were  skilful  in  many  things.  They  could 
shoot  smaller  game,  they  could  manage  a  canoe,  they 
could  fish,  and  they  acquired  much  useful  knowledge 
by  the  time  they  were  men  and  women. 

Even  to-day  youth  is  attracted  by  the  wild,  free  life, 
and  the  spirit  of  adventure  still  runs  in  the  blood. 

The  line  of  boats  were  coming  up  north  again.  There 
had  been  much  floating  ice  in  the  river  this  spring, 
which  had  delayed  travelling.  Flags  were  flying,  so 
all  was  well.  Down  on  the  levee  bells  were  ringing 
and  horns  blew  out  a  welcome.  Everything  had  a  nat 
ural  look  again,  only  the  new  places  were  built  higher 
up,  and  even  some  of  these  had  been  damaged  by  the 
crushing  of  ice  cakes. 


278       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

The  men  collected  who  had  this  sort  of  interest  at 
heart.  Many  others  and  the  slaves  were  out  on  the 
King's  Highway  and  beyond,  tilling  and  planting  fields. 
Women  sauntered  down  the  Rue  Royale  and  chatted. 
The  old  market  was  full  of  eagerness  and  activity,  and 
the  air  had  a  fragrance  of  cooked  viands  to  tempt  the 
palates  of  the  sailors.  Women  in  coifs  and  little  shoul 
der  shawls  that  gave  them  a  picturesque  look,  men  in 
close  caps  or  a  kerchief  tied  over  their  heads,  their  blue 
blouses  with  red  belts  and  wide  collars  exposing 
brawny  or  sinewy  throats,  tanned  already  by  sun  and 
wind. 

The  leader,  the  most  pretentious  boat  generally,  car 
ried  some  passengers ;  the  others  had  loads  of  bales  and 
bundles  covered  with  coarse  canvas  or  deers'  hide. 
They  looked  not  unlike  a  funeral  procession,  the  sails 
a  dull  gray,  but  the  shouts  and  songs  dispelled  so  som 
bre  a  thought.  Some  of  the  men  remembered  when 
the  sad  news  of  Pierre  Laclede  had  reached  them,  when 
all  had  been  silence. 

The  first  boat  unloaded  the  few  passengers,  valuable 
papers,  and  the  slaves  began  with  the  cargo.  One  tall, 
fine-aspected  young  fellow  sprang  ashore  and  was 
warmly  welcomed  by  the  Chouteaus  and  several  of  the 
more  prominent  men,  and  then  Gaspard  Denys  seized 
his  hand,  but  neither  of  them  spoke  except  with  the 
eyes. 

And  now  all  was  a  brisk,  seeming  confusion.  Rude 
barrows  and  a  kind  of  hand-carts  were  loaded  and  run 
to  the  storehouses.  Slaves,  Indians  and  the  lower 
class  of  French,  many  of  them  hunters  as  well,  worked 
with  a  hearty  will.  Then  there  were  groups  of  Indian 
traders  who  had  been  watching  for  days  for  the  arrival 
of  the  boats,  and  were  eager  with  their  packs  for  trade. 


THIS  WAY  AND  THAT  279 

Others  had  already  disposed  of  their  pelts  and  taken 
notes  with  the  signature  of  the  Chouteaus,  quite  as 
good  as  gold  or  silver,  and  making  trade  easier,  giving 
them  more  time  to  devote  to  their  own  selection. 
Squaws  eager  for  blankets,  calicoes,  coarse,  crash-like 
stuffs,  beads  and  gewgaws,  chaffering  in  their  guttural 
tones,  and  shrill  French  voices  raised  to  the  point  of 
anger,  it  would  seem,  from  the  eagerness,  but  good- 
humored  for  all  that. 

Several  men  went  into  the  counting  house  where  the 
old  sign  still  obtained,  "Maxent  Laclede  &  Company," 
just  as  it  still  remained  in  New  Orleans.  It  would 
look  queer  enough  to-day,  the  small  one-story  log 
house  with  its  rough  inside  wall  built  up  to  the  ceiling 
with  shelves,  its  great  iron-bound  boxes  that  served 
for  seats  as  well  as  receptacles. 

Andre  Valbonais  had  a  big  buckskin  bag  full  of 
papers  and  invoices,  and  he  had  much  to  say  to  his  em 
ployers.  Pierre  Chouteau  went  in  and  out;  he  could 
hear  the  particulars  afterward,  and  he  was  needed  every 
few  moments  to  tell  where  this  and  that  should  go. 

There  was  a  great  commotion,  to  be  sure.  Millions 
of  dollars  in  transactions  could  pass  now  without  a 
tithe  of  excitement.  But,  then,  when  a  town  has  been 
shut  in  all  winter  it  is  natural  the  outburst  should  stir 
like  wine  in  the  blood.  The  shops  farther  up  in  the 
town  were  deserted. 

As  for  Renee  de  Longueville,  she  kept  very  tranquil. 

"I  suppose  M'sieu  Andre  came  up  on  this  voyage?" 
Mere  Lunde  said  as  she  was  preparing  dinner. 

Renee  had  been  working  among  her  flowers ;  then 
she  had  kept  in  her  room,  busying  herself  with  sew 
ing. 

"Perhaps  so.      There  will  be  fleets  in  all  the  time 


280       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

now.  And  Indians  and  voyageurs  and  piles  of  pelts 
and  evil  smells,  and  such  a  confusion  in  the  streets  it 
will  hardly  be  safe  to  go  out  unless  one  is  willing  to 
be  jostled  and  pushed  hither  and  yon." 

"And  M'sieu  Denys  does  not  come  home  to  dinner. 
It  is  all  ready." 

"Let  us  have  ours,  then,"  with  cordial  assent. 
"Perhaps  he  may  bring  home  M'sieu  Valbonais." 
"Well,  there  may  be  something  left.     I  am  hungry, 
but  I  cannot  eat  all  this  bountiful  meal,"  with  a  gay 
laugh. 

"It  will  be  spoiled,  ma'm'selle,"  complainingly. 
"The  more  need  that  we  eat  ours  while  it  is  just 
right,"  she  answered,  with  smiling  emphasis.     "Will  it 
make  them  any  happier  to  have  ours  less  inviting?" 

So  she  took  her  seat  at  the  table  with  a  merry  audac 
ity,  and  praised  the  cookery  so  heartily  that  Mere 
Lunde  was  good  humored  in  a  moment  or  two.  Still 
there  was  no  step  on  the  path. 

"They  will  not  come,"  in  a  tone  of  disappointment. 
"But,  you  know,  there  is  enough  to  get  at  the  mar 
ket  in  such  times  as  these,"  returned  Renee,  with  a 
lightsome  air.      "Trust  them  for  not  starving." 

"Pah !  It  may  do  for  sailors  and  voyageurs  and  In 
dians,  but  never  for  gentlemen,  mademoiselle." 

When  Mere  Lunde  was  a  little  affronted  she  gave 
Renee  the  full  length  of  the  syllables. 

Renee  went  out  and  looked  at  the  flowers  again,  and 
up  and  down  the  street.  "If  there  was  any  news,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "Uncle  Denys  would  come  and  tell 
me." 

"Mere  Lunde,  I  am  going  over  to  Madame  Mar- 
chand's  with  my  work,"  she  exclaimed.  "I  do  hope 
they  have  brought  in  no  end  of  beads  and  spangles. 


THIS  WAY  AND  THAT  281 

What  do  you  suppose  the  Indian  women  did  before  the 
French  came  here?" 

That  was  beyond  the  simple  mere's  comprehension. 

M.  Marchand  was  returning  from  his  dinner. 

"I  just  ran  down  to  hear  the  luck,  ma'm'selle;  they 
had  a  splendid  voyage  and  no  mishap.  And  Andre 
Valbonais — you  would  not  know  him!" 

She  nodded  indifferently,  but  would  ask  no  ques 
tions.  Wawataysee  sat  out  under  a  pretty  rose  arbor 
that  was  heavy  with  pink  buds.  There  were  four  ba 
bies  now,  sturdy  Gaspard  and  Denys  tumbling  about 
on  the  grass,  Renee,  with  her  fair  hair  and  her  father's 
deep  blue  eyes,  much  more  French  than  Indian,  and 
baby  Francois.  Wawataysee  was  more  lovely  than 
ever,  Renee  thought,  but  she  did  not  understand  that 
it  was  the  largeness  and  sweetness  of  life  so  intimately 
connected  with  others. 

"Did  M'sieu  Denys  come  home?"  Wawataysee  asked. 

"No.  I  suppose  it  is  all  a  hurly-burly  down  there.  It 
is  good  to  have  something  to  stir  up  the  town  now  and 
then,"  Renee  returned  brightly. 

"Yes.  The  trappers  were  growing  very  impatient. 
And  I  think  there  will  be  a  good  trade,  an  excellent 
thing  for  you  and  me,"  with  a  grateful  expression  in 
her  beautiful  eyes.  "Renee,  I  wonder  if  M.  Denys 
ever  realizes  all  that  he  has  done  for  Fra^ois,  and 
good  Mere  Lunde  nursed  him  through  all  his  long  ill 
ness.  Men's  regard  for  each  other  has  such  a  strong, 
true  quality  in  it.  And,  then,  M'sieu  Andre — oh, 
Renee,  what  would  we  have  done  without  him?  I 
hope  he  came  up  on  this  voyage." 

"Yes,"  returned  Renee.  "M.  Marchand  just  told 
me  so." 

"I  am  all  impatience  to  see  him.     Almost  two  years ! 


282       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

Frangois  declares  sometimes  that  he  is  jealous,  but  that 
is  for  amusement.  I  wonder  if  he  is  much  changed? 
He  was  very  boyish,  you  know." 

"Was  he?"  commented  Renee  absently. 

"You  would  not  remark  it  so  much.  You  were  a 
child  yourself.  And  how  you  used  to  order  him  about." 

"It  was  a  habit  of  mine.  Uncle  Gaspard  spoiled  me. 
And  now  I  have  only  to  raise  my  finger  and  he  does 
my  bidding;  but  he  knows  there  is  no  one  I  love  so 
well." 

Would  she  always  love  him  the  best  of  any  one  ? 

"And  I  suppose  we  shall  be  glad  to  have  a  new 
store  of  beads  and  those  lovely  spangles  that  make  the 
work  glitter  so,  and  the  soft  silk  threads.  Merci ! 
What  would  we  do  but  for  the  work?"  laughing. 

No  books  or  papers  to  read,  no  letters  to  write,  no 
large  questions  to  discuss,  not  much  of  fashion,  since 
garments  were  handed  down  through  generations,  no 
journeys  about.  It  was  no  wonder  they  were  so  largely 
given  to  the  gayety  and  pleasures  of  every-day  life. 
There  were  loves  and  disputes  and  jealousies,  yet  they 
seldom  reached  the  desperate  point,  and  all,  both  men 
and  women,  looked  forward  to  marriage,  which  was 
made  happy  by  unfailing  good  humor  and  a  clear  sense 
of  duty.  It  was,  indeed,  Arcadian  simplicity. 

They  chatted  and  worked,  then  they  took  the  chil 
dren  and  went  up  on  the  mound,  where  they  had  a  view 
of  the  busy  hive  below,  and  the  conglomerate  of  na 
tions,  it  seemed  to  their  limited  sense.  Renee  was  in  a 
most  merry  mood.  She  sang  snatches  of  songs,  she 
played  with  the  children,  she  told  the  older  ones  In 
dian  legends  that  were  like  fairy  stories.  Wawataysee 
studied  her  in  a  sort  of  amazement. 

Renee  had  half  a  mind  to  go  home  to  supper  with 


THIS  WAY  AND  THAT  283 

her.  That  would  look  inhospitable.  Gay  as  she  had 
been,  there  was  a  curious  unrest  in  her  heart,  a  longing 
to  have  the  first  meeting  over.  Would  Andre  expect 
her  to  be  very  glad  ?  Well,  she  would  put  on  her  finest 
dignity.  She  was  quite  grown  up  now. 

The  table  was  set  for  two. 

"M'sieu  Denys  has  sent  word — they  are  to  go  to  the 
Chouteaus'  for  supper.  Oh,  I  forgot !  M.  Valbonais 
has  come,"  glancing  up  to  see  if  it  pleasured  her  young 
lady. 

"Yes,  yes !"  Renee  nodded  impatiently,  and  took  her 
seat.  "Of  course,  there  is  business.  He  is  clerk  of  the 
great  house,  you  know,  and  brings  news  not  only  of 
New  Orleans,  but  France,  and  perhaps  of  the  new 
colonies.  I  think  I  have  heard  there  is  some  trade 
with  them.  You  see,  Mere  Lunde,  New  Orleans  is  a 
wonderful  place." 

But  after  all  her  exercise  and  apparent  good  spirits, 
she  scarcely  ate  any  supper.  There  was  a  hurt  feeling 
lying  heavily  at  her  heart  that  she  could  not  banish, 
with  all  her  pride.  If  he  had  cared,  would  he  not  have 
found  a  few  moments  to  announce  his  safe  return? 
Perhaps  he  had  left  a  wife  behind.  Then,  of  course,  he 
had  no  right  to  think  of  any  other  woman. 

She  went  out  and  paced  up  and  down  in  the  garden, 
trying  to  think  what  she  would  do  to-morrow.  She 
would  go  down  to  the  mill-pond;  there  were  always 
parties  out  boating.  Then  Sophie  Borrie  would  be 
glad  to  see  her.  And  the  day  after,  the  day  after  that 
— how  long  and  lonely  the  procession  looked ! 

There  was  a  bright  twinkling  star  emerging  from  a 
drift  of  white  into  a  patch  of  almost  blue-black  sky. 
The  night  was  serene,  balmy,  and  there  were  but  few 
sounds.  It  was  not  yet  time  for  insects  to  begin  their 


284        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

choruses.  Steps  sounded  of  people  chatting  gayly,  but 
they  were  not  the  voices  she  knew.  Something  brushed 
against  her  forehead — she  reached  up  and  pulled  a 
rose,  sweet  with  the  first  greeting  of  its  brief  life.  And 
then 

She  hurried  swiftly  to  the  house.  Mere  Lunde  was 
scolding  Chloe,  but  through  the  rasping  sound  she 
heard  the  steps,  the  cordial  greeting.  It  was  quite 
dark  within,  and  she  was  lighting  the  pine  torch  when 
the  two  entered  and  her  uncle  said : 

"We  have  reached  home  at  last.  What  a  day! 
Renee,  here  is  a  guest,"  and  Uncle  Gaspard  gave  his 
hearty,  cheerful  laugh. 

''We  were  in  the  dark."  She  rose  in  some  confusion, 
the  short  curls  drooping  almost  into  her  eyes,  her  face 
quite  flushed,  and  turned,  drawing  a  long,  startled 
breath. 

"The  saints  only  know  how  glad  I  am  to  get  home 
again !"  and  the  strong  voice  was  full  of  rapture. 

"And  you  don't  know  yourself?"  she  interrupted 
quickly. 

"Ah,  you  must  not  take  me  up  like  that !"  laughing. 
"I  doubt  if  even  the  saints  could  understand  my  delight. 
No  one  but  myself  truly  knows.  Is  that  better?" 

The  torch  began  to  flame,  and  its  red  light  threw  him 
out  boldly.  He  seemed  to  have  grown  taller — no,  it 
was  not  that,  for  Uncle  Gaspard  still  towered  above 
him,  but  he  was  stouter,  and  the  way  he  carried  him 
self  had  in  it  a  new  character  and  power.  And  the 
indescribable  something  in  his  face  that  no  girl  could 
read  at  a  glance,  the  shaping  and  tone  experience  gives 
when  one  has  been  learning  to  rule  his  fellow-men  and 
to  depend  upon  himself. 

She  was  silent  and  a  warm  color  played  about  her 


THIS  WAY  AND  THAT  285 

face.  He  took  both  hands,  drew  her  nearer  to  him, 
and  suddenly  she  was  afraid  of  the  intense  personality. 
Her  rosy  lips  quivered,  her  eyes  drooped,  her  breath 
came  rapidly. 

"Haven't  you  a  word  of  welcome  for  Andre?"  asked 
Uncle  Gaspard,  surprised. 

"I  was  confused  by  the  light,  and — you  are  quite  sure 
it  is  Monsieur  Valbonais?"  turning  to  her  uncle.  "For 
he  seems  to  have  changed  mysteriously." 

"And  you  have  not  changed  at  all.  Nothing  has 
changed.  M.  Denys,  light  your  pipe  and  sit  in  the 
corner,  and  I  will  take  this  one.  Ma'm'selle  Renee, 
sit  here  in  the  middle."  He  pushed  the  chair  and  placed 
her  gently  in  it.  "Now  we  can  almost  believe  that  I 
have  not  been  away  at  all,  only  there  is  the  great  glad 
ness  of  coming  back." 

"Has  the  time  passed  so  quickly,  monsieur?" 

There  was  the  faintest  suggestion  of  mischief  in  her 
tone. 

"Mademoiselle,  you  have  not  outgrown  all  your 
naughtiness,  I  perceive.  You  find  a  second  meaning  in 
my  simple  words.  No,  there  have  been  days  that 
seemed  like  months — last  summer,  when  I  hoped  to 
return,  when  I  was  homesick  and  heartsick.  But 
what  are  you  to  do  when  the  kindest  employer  in  the 
world  begs  you  to  stay  and  there  is  no  one  to  take  your 
place,  unless  matters  go  at  a  great  loss  ?" 

"But  New  Orleans  is  gay  and  bright.  And  Madame 
Gardepier  says  the  women  are  lovely,  and  there  is 
music  and  light-heartedness  everywhere." 

"When  you  are  in  a  close  and  dark  office  or  out  on 
the  muddy,  crowded,  vile-smelling  levees  with  men  of 
every  nation  shouting  and  hustling  and  swearing  all 
about  you,  and  you  have  almost  to  fight  to  get  your 


286       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

bidding  done,  you  have  no  thought  for  pretty  women. 
But  a  man  cannot  always  choose.  And  my  greatest 
grief  is  that  I  must  go  back  or  disappoint  my  very 
good  friends." 

"Oh!"  with  a  toss  of  the  head  and  a  curve  of  the 
swelling  lip  that  he  longed  to  kiss. 

"Ma'm'selle,  let  us  not  talk  about  that  now.  There 
are  pleasanter  subjects — all  our  old  friends — for 
through  the  day  it  has  been  business,  business,  until 
my  head  seemed  in  a  whirl  with  it.  M.  Denys  will  tell 
you.  And  we  had  to  go  to  supper  to  finish,  as  if  there 
would  not  be  another  day.  But  it  is  so  lovely  here. 
And  the  pretty  Madame  Marchand  is  well,  and  the  Re- 
naud  girls,  and  the  Aubrys  with  their  husbands,  and 
Madame  Gardepier  with  her  little  one!  Ah,  I  shall 
have  a  fine  time  presently,  when  I  get  a  little  leisure !" 

What  a  new  sound  his  voice  had!  A  strength  and 
resolution  that  swayed  one  curiously,  a  definite  manner 
of  stating  opinions  that  somehow  impressed  one  not 
only  with  a  sense  of  security,  but  a  sense  of  power  that 
she  was  minded  to  rebel  against. 

They  talked  late.  Why  could  she  not  slyly  disap 
pear,  as  she  often  did,  and  leave  him  with  Uncle  Denys, 
since  he  would  remain  all  night? 

But  she  shook  off  the  mysterious  chain  with  an  effort 
and  rose  and  wished  them  good-night  in  a  timid  sort 
of  way,  though  she  stood  up  very  straight. 

He  caught  her  hand.  "I  am  tempted  to  wish  there 
could  be  no  nights  for  a  long  while,"  he  said.  "They 
are  not  good  nights." 

"Think  how  sleepy  we  should  get.  And  mine  are 
always  good,"  laughing  lightly.  But  she  did  not  go 
across  and  kiss  Uncle  Denys. 

There  were  several  busy  days,  and  friends  that  prof- 


THIS  WAY  AND  THAT  287 

fered  Andre  a  warm  welcome.  The  Valbonais  cousins 
were  wedded  long  ago,  but  they  claimed  him  quite  as 
cordially,  and  the  old  people  were  proud  enough  of  him. 
The  Marchands  offered  him  their  home,  and  were  de 
lighted  to  have  him  drop  in.  Then  he  was  being  asked 
to  dine  or  sup  with  the  Chouteaus,  and  he  was  at  the 
Government  House,  for  his  intelligent  understanding  of 
other  subjects  besides  commercial  matters  made  him  a 
desirable  guest. 

Renee  experienced  a  curious  sensation,  as  if  she  was 
being  neglected.  She  had  lost  her  old  power  over 
him,  which  was  mortifying.  He  teased  her  a  little, 
then  he  let  her  trifle  with  him  and  say  saucy  things. 
But  it  was  like  a  bird  with  a  chain;  he  brought  her 
back,  he  let  her  see  it  was  only  playing.  Then  she  grew 
indignant  and  flounced  away,  met  him  coldly  the  next 
time,  or  was  proud  and  silent. 

Uncle  Gaspard  never  raised  a  finger  in  the  mat 
ter. 

"I  do  not  like  him.  I  almost  hate  him!"  she  cried 
vehemently  one  day.  "Of  course,  I  know  he  saved  me 
in  that  dreadful  peril,  but  he  has  been  thanked  a  hun 
dred  times  over.  And  we  do  not  owe  him  anything." 

"Oh,  yes,"  Uncle  Gaspard  said  tenderly,  as  he 
pressed  her  to  his  heart.  "I  owe  him  a  great  deal.  For 
if  I  had  lost  you " 

"And  you  could  never  give  me  to  any  one  else?" 

"Well,  whoever  wanted  one  would  have  to  take 
both." 

Presently  the  trafficking  was  about  over.  The  In 
dians  had  gone  to  their  respective  lodges,  the  voyageurs 
sailed  up  the  river,  and  now  only  occasional  boats  and 
canoes  came  in.  Andre  was  not  so  busy.  He  joined 
the  parties  on  their  rambles  when  he  was  certain  Renee 


288       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

would  be  among  them.  He  did  not  hesitate  to  make 
himself  agreeable  to  other  demoiselles.  She  could  not 
help  drawing  contrasts.  He  had  certain  ways  of  the 
better  class,  though  social  lines  were  not  strongly 
marked  and  few  people  knew  what  culture  meant.  He 
talked  Spanish  fluently ;  he  was  quite  an  adept  in  Eng 
lish,  though  he  had  acquired  a  little  of  that  before.  But 
the  difference  was  largely  one  of  manner,  the  small,  deli 
cate  attentions  that  went  to  her  heart  and  understand 
ing.  Uncle  Gaspard  always  had  some  of  them,  M.  Mar- 
chand  also,  and  a  few  of  the  others.  The  rather  rough 
good  nature  had  much  honesty,  but  it  was  not  so  flatter 
ing  to  a  girl  of  Renee's  cast. 

There  were  times  when  she  was  quite  as  jealous  as 
she  had  ever  been  of  Uncle  Gaspard.  Yet  it  was 
strange  to  be  so  shaken  by  his  coming  when  she  told 
herself  she  did  not  care  for  him,  to  have  the  touch  of 
his  hand  thrill  through  every  nerve,  to  have  the  steady 
glance  of  his  eye  conquer  the  spirit  of  rebellion  until 
there  was  nothing  left  except  the  thin  outside  crust, 
that  would  surely  fall  at  the  next  assault  if  she  did  not 
run  away.  This  was  cowardly,  too,  and  she  despised 
herself  for  it,  but  she  was  not  the  first  who  had  escaped 
in  this  fashion. 

He  was  amused.  In  the  earlier  days  he  had  experi 
enced  a  great  terror  at  the  thought  of  losing  her.  It 
might  be  the  elder  man's  wisdom  had  helped  open  his 
eyes.  He  liked  her  piquant  independence,  and  he 
learned,  too,  there  was  a  mood  of  most  fascinat 
ing  dependence  as  well.  But  she  never  wholly  gave 
up. 

"Is  it  true  you  are  going  back  to  New  Orleans?" 
Renee  asked  one  day  in  her  charming,  but  imperious 
fashion, 


THIS  WAY  AND  THAT  289 

"Yes,   ma'm'selle.      And   I  must  start  in  another 

month." 

He  looked  so  brave  and  dignified,  his  clear  eyes  shin 
ing,  his  shoulders  thrown  back,  his  head  securely 
poised,  as  if  he  could  lead  an  army.  There  was  not 
his  match  in  all  St.  Louis.  Oh,  yes,  Uncle  Gaspard 
and  M.  Marchand,  and  Madame  Chouteau's  splendid 
sons,  who  had  risked  various  dangers !  And  M.  Mar 
chand  had  carried  off  the  pretty  Wawataysee  when  he 
knew  if  they  should  be  captured  he  would  be  put  to 
cruel  tortures  and  death.  Well,  had  not  Andre  es 
caped  with  them  both  when  a  like  fate  would  have 
awaited  him  in  being  taken? 

"You  care  nothing  for  us  now,  Andre,"  in  her  most 
plaintive  tone,  a  hundred  times  more  dangerous  than 
her  pride  tinctured  with  sweetness.  And  the  sorrow 
that  flooded  her  beautiful  brown  eyes  almost  swept  him 
from  his  standing-ground. 

"Yes,  ma'm'selle,  I  care  a  great  deal.  I  love  M. 
Denys  as  an  elder  brother.  And  you — "  hesitatingly. 

She  blushed  scarlet  and  her  eyes  drooped. 

"No,  you  want  the  gayety  and  the  excitement  and 
the  crowds  of  pretty  women  and  the  theatres.  We  are 
dull  and  simple  here,  yet  I  think  we  are  good  and 
happy  and  honest  and  true.  And,  then,  you  are  all  ab 
sorbed  in  money-making.  Uncle  Gaspard  said  you 
would  be  a  rich  man  before  you  died.  But  they  do 
dreadful  things  in  New  Orleans,  and  drink  and  carouse. 
You  may  be  murdered  some  day,  and  then  what  will  all 
the  money  be  worth  ?" 

"She  looked  so  aggrieved,  so  bewitching  in  her  re 
gret  that,  after  all,  was  half  assumed,  though  she  would 
not  confess  it  to  herself  even,  that  he  had  much  ado  to 
keep  tranquil. 


290       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Ma'm'selle,  I  go  because  I  see  it  is  quite  necessary. 
A  man  who  hopes  for  advancement  must  study  the  in 
terest  of  those  who  have  his  welfare  at  heart  and  can 
favor  him  in  many  ways.  Then  I  hold  the  key  to 
much  of  the  business  at  that  end  of  the  line,  and  I  do 
not  see  who  there  is  to  put  in  my  place.  It  is  true  the 
life  here  is  simple  and  delightful.  There  one  has  a 
good  deal  of  sharp  dealing  to  fight  against,  since  he 
must  meet  men  of  all  governments  and  all  sorts  of 
schemes.  If  M'sieu  Chouteau  could  go — but  he  can 
not.  Do  not  for  a  moment  think  it  is  the  gayety  and 
the  pretty  women." 

"Then  you  will  go.     There  is  no  use  in  arguing." 

She  turned  away.  How  distractingly  pretty  she  was 
this  morning  in  the  old  garden,  herself  a  part  of  its 
bloom !  Over  the  gate  she  had  given  him  a  rose,  and 
renewed  friendship  after  a  dispute. 

"I  must  go.  I  have  passed  my  word.  Renee — "  in 
a  beseeching  tone. 

She  half  turned,  like  a  bird  who  wonders  whether 
he  will  fly  or  not,  but  her  lowered  eyes  had  a  laugh  in 
them. 

"Renee,  you  know  I  love  you " 

"No,  I  do  not."  He  could  see  the  swelling  of 
her  bosom  that  sent  a  throb  up  to  her  throat.  "You 
do  nothing  for  me  now.  You  are  off  with  the  men. 
You  are — oh,  so  very  charming  to  the  girls!"  with  a 
cutting  little  emphasis.  "And  you  are  always  talking 
to  Uncle  Gaspard  about  business " 

"And  last  night  you  ran  away  to  bed  without  even  a 
good-night !"  with  upbraiding  in  his  voice. 

"Oh,  did  you  miss  me?  I  never  supposed  you 
would.  I  was  tired  sitting  there,  thinking  my  own 
thoughts." 


THIS  WAY  AND   THAT  291 

"Now  we  have  plenty  of  time;  tell  them  to  me,"  and 
his  persuasive  tone  penetrated  her  inmost  being.  What 
foolish  things  could  she  repeat?  Her  face  was  scarlet. 

"You  know  now  I  love  you.  I  have  told  you  so  in 
words.  I  have  told  it  in  many  other  ways.  I  con 
fessed  it  to  M.  Denys  before  I  went  away  and  he  bade 
me  wait  patiently.  For  two  years  I  have  carried  you 
in  my  heart,  yes,  longer  than  that.  You  had  your 
fling  about  other  women;  no  one  has  ever  moved  me. 
Every  night  I  said,  'One  more  day  has  gone,  and  at 
the  last  I  shall  go  back  to  the  little  girl  in  old  St.  Louis 
that  I  carried  in  my  arms  all  one  night  when  she 
was  worn  out  with  fatigue  and  hunger  and  cold. 
Renee " 

"I  cannot  leave  Uncle  Denys.  I  have  said  hundreds 
of  times  I  never  would,"  and  her  voice  was  sweet  with 
pathos  that  penetrated  his  inmost  soul. 

"But  you  need  not.  We  have  planned  that.  I  will 
be  a  son  to  him  in  all  his  declining  years.  No,  you 
need  never  be  separated." 

"Then  you  will  stay !"  exultingly.  If  she  could  once 
conquer  she  would  be  generous  and  consent  afterward. 
Did  not  love  yield  everything? 

"I  must  go.  We  three  will  go."  His  breath  came 
in  a  gasp,  his  eyes  deepened  with  fervor,  he  caught  both 
her  hands;  he  could  have  clasped  her  in  his  arms  in 
a  transport  of  rapture.  Only — she  stood  up  so  straight 
and  resolute. 

"So  you  have  planned  all  this!"  she  cried  in  a  pas 
sion  that  had  a  pang  for  her  as  well  as  him.  "And 
I  am  not  anywhere.  It  makes  no  difference  what  I 
want.  I  am  like  any  bale  of  merchandise  tossed  from 
one  to  the  other.  That  is  all  a  woman  is  worth !  But 
you  will  find  I  am  not  to  be  bandied  about." 


292       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

She  had  lashed  her  emotion  into  tears,  and  pulled 
away  her  hands  with  an  impatient  gesture. 

"Heaven  above  knows  what  you  are  worth  to  both  of 
us.  No  one  will  ever  love  you  more  truly,  more  de 
votedly." 

Renee  de  Longueville  fled  swiftly  away. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

WHEN  A  WOMAN  WILL. 

"WHAT  ails  the  child  ?"  inquired  Mere  Lunde.  "She 
has  not  been  like  herself  the  last  fortnight.  And  now 
she  is  in  there,  crying  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  It 
is  all  that  Andre  Valbonais,  I  know.  Why  does  he 
not  marry  her  and  be  done  with  it?" 

"But  if  she  will  not?"  Gaspard  Denys  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  drew  his  brow  into  a  frown. 

"In  my  time  a  man  knew  how  to  make  a  woman  say 
yes.  And  a  woman  knew  when  she  was  going  to  get  a 
good  husband,  which  is  of  the  Lord.  Gaspard  Denys, 
you  have  spoiled  her!" 

Yes,  he  had  spoiled  her.  A  man  did  not  know  how 
to  bring  up  a  girl.  But  she  was  so  sweet  in  all  her 
wilfulness,  so  loving  in  spite  of  little  tempers  and  au 
thoritative  ways,  so  dear  to  him,  that  if  she  had  wanted 
to  walk  over  his  body  with  her  dainty  feet  he  could 
hardly  have  refused  her.  He  went  into  her  room  and 
took  her  in  his  arms. 

"You  are  too  good  to  me!"  she  cried  presently. 
"And  I  am  a  miserable,  hateful,  quarrelsome,  selfish 
little  thing,  wanting  my  own  way  and  then  not  happy 
or  satisfied  with  it.  Oh,  how  will  you  endure  me  years 
and  years,  getting  queerer  as  I  grow  old !  For  now 
we  will  have  to  live  here  together  always.  I  have  sent 
Andre  away.  Oh,  will  you  care?" 

There  was  no  use  arguing.      She  had  cried  herself 


294       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

into  an  unreasonable  passion.  She  had  had  her 
way.  How  much  of  it  was  regret?  None  of  it  was 
satisfaction. 

"Well,  dear,  then  we  must  get  along,"  and  his  tone 
had  a  tranquillizing  cheerfulness  in  it.  "There  is  no 
one  I  would  like  as  well  for  a  son " 

"But  you  do  not  want  to  go  to  that  wretched  New 
Orleans?"  in  a  tone  of  incredulity. 

She  raised  her  head  from  his  shoulder.  Her  swollen 
eyes  and  tear-stained  face  melted  his  heart. 

"You  know  we  were  going  some  time.  It  is 
well  worth  seeing.  But  we  do  not  need  to  take  An 
dre." 

"Yet  you  like  him  so,"  with  her  old  waywardness. 

"Yes.     And  I  am  sorry  you  do  not." 

She  hid  her  face  again.  She  did  like  him.  She  felt 
it  in  the  hot  color  that  stained  her  cheek. 

"He  will  be  gone  a  year — that  is  not  long,"  she  said 
in  a  rather  hopeful  tone. 

"Or,  he  might  decide  to  stay  longer.  If  he  has 
nothing  to  call  him  back " 

They  would  be  lonely  without  him.  She  would  be 
lonely.  After  all,  there  were  few  young  men  to  com 
pare  with  him.  And  some  time — if  he  was  quite  sure 
she  did  not  care  for  him,  he  might  marry.  She  never 
could  marry  any  one  else,  but,  then — men  were  differ 
ent.  Oh,  here  was  one  who  had  never  put  a  woman  in 
his  first  love's  place !  And  Andre  was  all  alone  in  the 
world.  Yes,  he  would  need  a  wife 

"Oh,  Uncle  Gaspard,  I  am  not  worth  all  this  love!" 
she  cried  remorsefully. 

"You  will  always  be  worth  it  to  two  men,"  he  said 
in  so  gentle  a  tone  that  it  pierced  her  heart.  "I  am 


WHEN  A  WOMAN  WILL  295 

much  older  than  you,  dear,  and  some  day  I  shall  be 
called  upon  to  take  the  journey  from  which  one  never 
returns.  Then  you  will  be  left  quite  alone." 

What  made  her  think  of  the  little  girl  in  the  old  cha 
teau  to  whom  the  days  were  so  long  and  lonesome? 
Yet,  it  would  be  very  sad  to  be  left  alone.  And — after 
all 

There  are  so  many  "after  alls"  in  life.  And  so  many 
things  seem  insurmountable  when  looked  at  in  a  mo 
ment  of  passion.  Uncle  Denys  could  never  give  her 
wholly  away,  had  never  planned  to  do  that.  Fathers 
and  mothers  were  happy  to  have  their  children  married, 
and  here  she  would  not  do  this  for  the  best  friend  she 
had,  nor  for  the  man  who  loved  her  sincerely — that  she 
loved — a  little. 

"You  ought  to  shut  me  up  in  the  loft  and  keep  me  on 
— on  pemican,  which  you  know  I  hate,  and  declare  you 
would  never  let  me  out  until — until " 

"A  woman's  love  must  always  be  a  free  gift,  Renee, 
darling.  And  if  you  do  not  love  Andre  it  would  be 
sinning  against  him  to  marry  him." 

She  knew  down  deep  in  her  heart  that  she  did  love 
him,  that  she  had  waited  these  two  years  because  there 
was  no  one  like  him  to  her.  Of  course,  she  had  not 
really  meant  that  he  should  throw  up  his  fine  prospects, 
but  be  willing  to  for  her  sake.  And  she  knew  now  it 
was  all  very  foolish  and  wicked,  and  that  she  deserved 
to  be  left  alone  for  years  and  years  and  have  them  all 
full  of  sorrowful  regret. 

"I  am  going  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  indeed  I  am," 
and  she  slipped  out  of  Uncle  Gaspard's  arms.  "See 
what  a  fright  I  have  made  of  myself  with  red  eyes  and 
swollen  face,  and  my  hair  frousled.  Dinner  must  be 
nearly  ready.  Oh,  what  a  long  morning !  And  I  have 


296       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

made  you  unhappy,  when  I  love  you  so  much,"  in  ac 
cents  of  tenderest  regret. 

He  kissed  her  and  went  away. 

They  were  very  silent  at  dinner.  Mere  Lunde  grum 
bled  because  they  ate  so  little.  Then  Uncle  Gaspard 
went  out.  The  boats  were  loading  up  with  lead,  as 
well  as  other  materials,  and  he  was  interested  in  that, 
and  needed  as  well. 

No  one  came  during  the  evening.  She  heard  the 
violins  and  singing  up  the  street,  the  fiddles  and  danc 
ing  down  below.  The  fire  was  all  out;  no  one 
wanted  it  after  the  cooking  was  done.  There  were  some 
black  charred  ends  and  piles  of  ashes.  It  had  a  melan 
choly  appearance.  And  then  she  fancied  herself  as  old 
as  Mere  Lunde,  sitting  by  the  chimney  corner,  only 
Mere  Lunde  had  married  the  man  of  her  choice — it 
seemed  now  to  Renee  that  every  one  must  have  done 
so — and  though  her  two  sons  were  dead,  she  had  had 
them  once ;  and  everybody  must  die  some  time.  But  to 
die  without  having  been  very  happy,  that  made  her 
shudder.  And,  then,  to  know  that  one  had  cast  it 
away  rather  than  give  up  a  whim  of  will. 

So  the  next  day  passed  and  the  next.  Sunday  she 
and  Uncle  Gaspard  went  to  church.  There  would  only 
be  one  Sunday  more  for  Andre — ten  days.  For  her — 
how  many? 

Coming  down  the  path  they  glanced  at  each  other. 
What  wonderful  languages  live  in  the  depths  of  the 
eyes!  Andre  came  to  her  side,  and  then  she  colored 
and  the  hand  he  took  trembled,  but  she  did  not  with 
draw  it.  They  walked  on  homeward.  She  never 
knew  whether  any  one  spoke  or  not.  Uncle  Gaspard 
was  lingering  behind,  giving  thanks  that  he  was  likely 
to  get  his  heart's  desire. 


WHEN  A  WOMAN  WILL  297 

They  paused  at  the  garden  gate.  He  opened  it  for 
her  to  pass.  There  was  midsummer  richness  and  bloom 
in  it,  the  homely  every-day  herbs  giving  out  a  sweet 
ness  in  their  plain  flowering  that  was  reviving.  He  fol 
lowed  her,  but  she  made  a  little  pause  at  the  vine-clad 
arbor. 

"I  am  wilful  and  delight  in  my  own  way,"  she  began, 
and  the  words  trembled  on  the  fragrant  air.  "I  am  like 
a  briar  that  pricks  you  when  you  would  gather  the 
rose " 

''But  the  rose  is  sweet  for  all  that.  And — I  will  take 
the  rose." 

Then  he  kissed  her  throbbing  red  lips,  her  fluttering 
eyelids,  just  as  he  had  dreamed  of  doing  many  a  time. 
And  the  bliss  was  sweeter  than  any  dream. 

There  was  not  much  time  to  waste.  Mere  Lunde 
protested  at  first  at  being  left  alone,  but  there  would  be 
Chloe,  and  the  Marchands  to  look  after  her,  and  neigh 
bors  were  kindly. 

Not  much  fuss  was  made  in  those  days  over  wed 
ding  trousseaus.  Often  one  dress  went  through 
families,  was  even  borrowed.  But  Renee  had  no  need 
of  that. 

So  they  went  to  church  on  Sunday  and  heard  the 
banns  called,  and  every  one  nodded  to  his  next  neigh 
bor  with  the  confident  air  of  having  known  it  all  along. 
The  next  day  Gaspard  Denys  gave  his  darling  away, 
and  the  priest  joined  their  hands  and  blessed  them. 
Madame  Chouteau  gave  them  the  wedding  feast,  which 
was  a  mid-day  dinner  in  the  grand  old  house,  much  the 
finest  residence  in  St.  Louis.  It  had  not  the  boister- 
ousness  of  most  weddings,  for  only  the  better  part  of 
the  community  were  invited.  Madame  Chouteau  could 
do  that. 


298        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

They  drank  the  bride's  health  and  gave  her  all  good 
wishes.  The  men  considered  Andre  very  lucky  and  he 
thought  himself  so,  but  Renee's  fortune  scarcely 
counted,  since  he  would  make  one  for  himself.  Every 
thing  seemed  sweet  and  solemn  to  Renee,  and  she  was 
awed  in  a  sacred  sort  of  way  as  this  new  life  unfolded 
before  her. 

They  walked  in  quite  a  procession  afterward.  Gas- 
pard  Denys  had  Madame  Gardepier.  They  talked  a 
little  about  the  bridegroom,  then  she  said : 

"Monsieur  Denys,  you  have  done  a  faithful  duty 
toward  the  child.  You  will  miss  her  much.  One  can 
never  be  quite  the  same  again.  Is  it  true  you  are  going 
to  New  Orleans  also  ?" 

"Yes,  madame.     I  have  not  been  there  for  years." 

She  had  hoped  it  was  not  so.  If  he  were  lonely,  he 
might  turn  to  others  for  consolation.  And  if  the  child 
went  out  of  his  life 

"But  will  her  husband  agree  to  share  her  love  ?  Hus 
bands  are  jealous  sometimes,"  she  commented  rather 
gayly. 

"He  is  like  a  son  to  me,  and  he  knows  it.  You  see, 
I  am  old  enough  to  be  his  father  also." 

"Ah,  M'sieu  Denys,  you  should  have  had  children  of 
your  very  own,  and  a  woman  to  love  in  your  home. 
You  have  such  a  noble  and  tender  heart  you  could  have 
made  some  one  so  happy." 

Her  heart  beat  as  she  said  it.  Why  could  he  not  be 
roused  to  the  hope  even  now  ? 

"I  think  you  know  that  I  loved  the  child's  mother, 
and  that  we  were  unfairly  separated.  If  she  had  lived 
— but  she  died.  And  when  I  heard  the  little  one  was 
sent  across  the  sea  by  her  father,  who  had  small  regard 
for  her,  it  was  as  if  her  mother,  leaning  over  the  wall  of 


WHEN  A  WOMAN  WILL  299 

heaven,  called  to  me,  and  I  did  what  I  knew  would 
set  her  heart  at  rest." 

"But  she  had  heaven  and  all  the  saints.  And  in  that 
land  of  the  blest  one  cannot  long  for  human  loves.  It 
is  to  those  left  on  earth  to  whom  they  are  precious," 
she  returned,  with  a  little  longing  in  her  tone.  She 
had  been  waiting  for  Renee's  marriage  to  take  her  out 
of  his  life.  Why  should  the  child  have  so  much? 

"I  think  they  know,  those  blessed  ones.  Ah,  ma- 
dame,  if  you  had  been  dying,  instead  of  your  husband, 
and  leaving  the  little  one,  would  you  not  have  pleaded 
with  the  very  angels  that  some  one  might  be  raised  up 
to  care  for  her?  And  if  that  had  been  one  to  whom 
she  would  be  doubly  dear !  So  the  child  in  one  sense 
has  been  like  my  own." 

And  always  her  rival,  Barbe  Gardepier  felt.  Her 
last  hope  seemed  to  drop  as  one  lets  fall  a  withered 
flower  that  has  been  sweet  and  is  still  freighted  with 
some  dear  remembrances. 

They  paused  at  her  sister's  house. 

"You  will  come  in  and  say  good-by  to-morrow?" 

"Yes,"  and  he  bowed. 

Why  should  things  go  so  wrong  in  the  world  ?  Renee 
Freneau  defrauded  of  a  lifelong  happiness,  of  life  itself, 
and  she  who  had  seen  such  a  blissful  possibility  twice 
in  her  short  life  shut  out  from  what  would  have  been 
her  brightest  happiness. 

He  went  his  way  thoughtfully.  He  had  been  so  long 
used  to  a  man's  liberty  that  he  did  not  care  to  enchain 
himself  with  matrimony.  And  surely  he  would  give 
Renee  no  rival  to  her  children. 

It  was  a  gorgeous  day  and  the  fleet  of  boats  glided 
out  with  music  and  many  a  "Bon  "voyage!"  The  little 
girl  had  vanished,  but  Renee  remembered  the  first  night 


300       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

she  came,  when  in  the  bend  of  the  river  they  passed 
the  old  ruined  heap,  and  the  old  French  post-house 
going  to  decay.  Was  it  in  some  other  life  ?  She  still 
had  Uncle  Denys,  and  she  was  glad.  What  a  wonder 
ful  thing  it  was  to  love  a  woman's  memory  all  these 
years ! 

It  was  a  pleasant  journey,  with  only  a  few  storms, 
one  severe  enough  to  make  them  run  into  an  inlet  to 
get  out  of  the  fierce  sweep  of  the  river.  There  was 
Cahokia,  whose  ruins  were  still  visible.  Kaskaskia, 
despoiled  of  much  of  its  valuable  front,  the  town  high 
now  above  the  river.  Strange  and  curious  sights  to 
one  who  had  been  no  farther  than  St.  Charles. 

How  would  St.  Louis  look  when  they  went  back  to 
it  ?  Renee  wondered.  For  this  to  her  was  a  marvellous 
city,  more  brilliant  than  any  dream  ever  made  it.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  whole  world  must  have  been  gathered 
in  it  when  one  heard  the  confusion  of  tongues. 

They  did  not  return  the  next  summer,  for  still  the 
business  could  not  spare  Andre.  But  Monsieur  Chou- 
teau  came  down,  and  there  were  journeys  about  to 
places  of  such  bloom  and  beauty  and  mystery  that  one 
almost  had  to  hold  one's  breath. 

Strange  things,  too,  were  happening  in  the  world  be 
yond  the  great  river  that  seemed  all  to  them.  The 
colonies  were  growing  more  stable,  being  welded  to 
gether  by  chains  of  interest  and  pride  and  patriotism 
into  a  grand  country,  but  the  Mississippi  River  would 
always  be  its  boundary.  It  could  not  pass  that,  men 
thought. 

Over  seas  there  were  tumults  and  wars,  and  France 
in  the  throes  of  a  most  fearful  revolution.  They  heard 
a  great  deal  about  it  here.  How  hundreds  of  the  no- 


WHEN  A  WOMAN  WILL  301 

bility  were  thrown  in  prison,  the  King  and  Queen  exe 
cuted  and  the  mob  quarrelling  with  its  leaders. 

Renee  thought  of  the  two  little  brothers  in  Paris  that 
she  had  seen  on  the  day  of  her  journey.  And  the 
Count.  He  was  among  the  nobility,  and  he  was  her 
father.  She  shuddered  over  the  horrible  doings.  And 
here  was  her  other  father,  bright  and  happy  and  always 
considering  what  would  be  for  her  pleasure. 

Sometimes  they  read  an  unspoken  wish  in  each  oth 
er's  eyes. 

"It  is  not  quite  St.  Louis,"  she  would  say,  with  a  half 
smile  meant  to  be  gay,  but  was  pensive  instead. 

"No.  But  we  will  return  presently,"  the  eyes  full  of 
cheerful  light  and  the  tone  hopeful. 

"And  never  leave  it  again  ?" 

"I  am  glad  you  cannot  forget  it." 

"Oh,  there  is  no  place  like  the  home  and  the  friends 
of  childhood — the  larger  childhood,  when  everything  is 
impressed  on  one's  heart.  The  old  house  and  the  shop 
and  the  wide  chimneys  and  Mere  Lunde,  and  the  Mar- 
chands  with  their  babies.  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  an 
exile." 

Still  she  and  Andre  were  very  happy,  taking  the 
leisure  of  life  like  two  children,  growing  into  each  oth 
er's  souls,  laughing  over  some  of  the  old  times.  And 
she  would  say : 

"How  could  you  love  me  so  well  when  I  was  horrid 
and  provoking  and  tormented  you  so?" 

"But  you  had  moments  of  rare  sweetness,  ma'm'- 
selle ;  and  sometimes  the  bee  works  a  long  while  before 
he  can  extract  the  honey." 

"And  you  have  never  once  been  sorry  ?" 

"The  sorrow  would  have  come  if  I  had  not  gained 
you — a  lifelong  sorrow." 


302       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"And  I  like  your  strength,  your  determination,  your 
resolution,  Andre.  Oh,  I  like  you  altogether.  I  would 
not  have  one  thought  or  line  of  you  changed." 

"You  yielded  so  sweetly,  ma'm'selle.  It  is  the  rose 
without  the  thorns.  And  such  tenderness !  Ah,  I  do 
not  wonder  Father  Gaspard  gave  up  all  other  women 
for  love  of  you !"  kissing  the  crown  of  her  head,  a  trick 
he  had  learned  from  Denys. 

"Not  altogether  for  me,"  smiling  with  the  distant 
look  in  her  eyes,  as  if  she  saw  a  heavenly  vision.  "For 
my  mother  as  well.  I  wish  I  could  remember  her  bet 
ter,  but  I  was  so  small.  And  do  you  know,  Andre,  I 
used  to  act  like  a  fiend  sometimes,  I  was  so  afraid  he 
would  love  Barbe.  And  now  and  then  a  great  wave 
of  sorrow  sweeps  over  me,  thinking  of  all  she  has 
missed." 

"Madame  Gardepier  is  a  lovely  woman.  Still  she 
does  not  look  like  those  who  have  had  their  heart's 
longing  satisfied.  There  is  something  still  needed." 

"And  I  could  not  even  yet  give  up  Papa  Gaspard.  I 
am  still  selfish.  Are  you  jealous,  Andre?"  raising  beau- 
ful,  beseeching  eyes  to  him. 

"He  gave  you  to  me  long  before  you  gave  yourself — 
the  treasure  of  his  life.  I  lost  my  father  so  young  that 
I  cannot  tell  what  such  a  love  would  have  been  like,  but 
I  know  it  could  not  be  any  tenderer.  One  sees  it  in  his 
eyes  and  the  comfort  he  takes,  the  immeasurable  con 
tent.  But  he  is  longing  for  home.  Dear,  we  will  never 
leave  St.  Louis  again." 

They  often  made  love  to  each  other,  she  with  a  free 
dom  that  wifehood  had  given  her  which  was  enchant 
ing.  Gaspard  Denys  took  deep  satisfaction  in  his  two 
children.  There  was  one  more  dream,  but  that  was 
for  some  after-day  fruition. 


WHEN  A  WOMAN  WILL  303 

There  was  a  much  greater  spirit  of  energy  in  this 
queer,  half-submerged  town,  with  its  muddy  streets 
that  sometimes  were  positive  streams.  The  ambition 
of  the  outside  world  was  stirring  them,  the  interest  that 
varied  commerce  brings.  There  were  new  boats  being 
builded  for  the  old  firm,  and  in  one  of  these  Renee  went 
up  the  river  again  to  her  old  home. 

There  had  been  no  great  freshet  since  the  one  that 
had  wrought  such  destruction,  but  the  swift  current  of 
spring  had  torn  away  some  of  the  old  obstructions. 
Noble  bluffs  had  settled  to  sunken  ridges,  banks  had 
slipped  into  the  river  and  formed  other  high  places  full 
of  greenery  and  wild  bloom.  Caves  of  rocks  swept  out 
and  left  high  in  some  other  place.  It  was  wild  and 
curious  with  a  peculiar  beauty.  Its  partly  ruined 
towns  were  recovering.  There  were  little  hamlets  set 
so  near  the  river's  edge  one  wondered  people  had  the 
courage  to  plant  them  there.  And  there  was  all  the 
Illinois  side,  the  new  country  showing  already  the  en 
ergy  of  the  new  race  combined  of  many  peoples. 

Renee  might  have  left  St.  Louis  yesterday,  so  little  had 
it  changed  in  the  two  years.  The  levee  was  in  a  better 
condition,  some  new  docks  had  been  built.  And,  as 
usual,  there  was  the  throng  to  see  the  boats  come  in, 
pouring  down  from  the  Rue  de  la  Tour  and  the  Rue  de 
la  Place  into  the  Rue  Royale.  Yet  it  was  like  an  every 
day  sight  at  New  Orleans.  Only  the  welcomes  gave 
it  a  rapture  she  had  never  known  before.  Madame 
Marchand  had  her  arms  about  her.  Other  old  friends 
of  girlhood,  wives  and  mothers  now,  voices  so  con 
fused,  yet  so  glad,  that  it  was  music  to  listen  to  them. 

It  was  old  St.  Louis,  but  the  little  girl  had  gone  for 
ever.  Madame  Valbonais,  prettier  than  ever  and  with 
a  style  that  was  foreign  to  the  small  town.  Monsieur, 


304       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

grown  a  little  stouter,  fine  and  strong,  yet  smiling  with 
a  face  of  gladness.  Gaspard  Denys,  keeping  close 
watch  over  the  mulatto  nurse  in  gay  coif  and  bright 
gown,  who  had  in  her  arms  the  little  son  of  madame. 

A  triumphal  procession  escorted  her  home.  How 
curiously  dry  the  streets  were,  and  almost  prim  after 
the  southern  irregularity;  the  riotous  tangle  of  vines, 
the  balconies  full  of  ladies  with  fans,  chatting  and  wav 
ing  to  the  passers-by,  throwing  coquettish  smiles.  The 
old  French  air  that  had  grown  settled  in  fifty  years,  the 
queer  houses,  and  oh,  yes,  here  was  the  garden,  and 
Mere  Lunde  watching  at  the  gate,  more  bent  than  ever, 
crying  tears  of  joy,  and  in  her  broken  voice  repeating, 
"Oh,  my  little  one !  Oh,  my  little  one !" 

Yet  it  was  strange,  too,  after  all  that  luxuriance  of 
growth  and  bloom  and  fragrance,  queer,  crooked,  busy 
streets,  gay  wine  shops  with  open  doors  and  tables  of 
men  within  playing  cards  or  fiddling  or  singing  songs. 
Birds  of  every  color  and  richest  plumage  filling  the  air 
with  melody,  iridescent  lizards  creeping  about  wink 
ing  with  their  bright  black  eyes,  alligators  sunning 
themselves  in  the  ooze,  snakes  gliding  about  unmolested, 
throngs  of  almost  naked  children  shining  in  their  black 
ness,  ready  to  sing  and  dance,  turn  a  dozen  somersaults 
or  walk  upside  down  for  a  copper — the  vivid  panorama 
still  floated  before  her  eyes  and  gave  her  queer,  mixed 
impressions. 

Most  of  the  people  seemed  to  have  stood  still.  Two 
or  three  very  old  ones  had  died  and  several  babies,  but 
others  had  come  to  replace  them.  Not  a  new  house 
had  been  built;  the  stockade  was  getting  dilapidated. 
The  Government  House  had  been  painted  afresh,  but 
the  old  court-house  was  dingy  enough.  The  priest's 
house  had  been  repaired,  the  little  garden  was  lovely 


WHEN  A  WOMAN  WILL  305 

with  roses  that  were  always  blooming,  and  the  Chou- 
teau  grounds  were  like  a  beautiful  park,  so  well-  kept 
and  thrifty. 

"Oh,"  Andre  said,  "I  wonder  if  you  will  be  sick  with 
longing  for  all  the  gayety  and  loveliness  we  have  left 
behind?" 

"Why,  then,  we  can  go  there  again,"  she  answered 
merrily,  with  bright,  contented  eyes  and  a  winsome 
smile.  "It  is  so  restful  here.  And  Papa  Gaspard  is  so 
happy." 

He  was  hale  and  hearty  and  had  not  turned  the  half- 
century  yet.  Then  he  was  full  of  plans.  They  would 
move  the  shop  down  on  the  Rue  Royale  and  build  a 
new  room  on  to  the  old  house.  He  had  brought  home 
some  ideas  of  improvement  and  comfort,  of  larger  liv 
ing.  It  was  not  likely  St.  Louis  would  always  stand 
still. 

Madame  Marchand  was  delighted  to  get  her  friend 
back  again.  There  was  a  new  little  girl,  but  Renee 
kept  her  beauty  and  winsomeness.  Wawataysee  was 
still  lithe  and  slim — it  belonged  to  her  tribe — and  M. 
Marchand  was  as  devoted  as  ever.  Oh,  what  days  of 
talk  it  took  to  make  up  all  the  past ! 

And  Madame  Gardepier  had  married  and  gone  over 
to  the  Illinois  side  to  live  on  a  big  plantation.  Pierre 
Menard  had  a  mill  for  sawing  boards  and  a  brewery 
for  beer,  no  end  of  slaves  and  servants,  full  fifty  years 
of  age,  and  two  grown  sons  married.  He  coveted  the 
little  Angelique  Gardepier  and  sued  hard  for  the 
mother,  who  would  have  a  luxurious  life. 

"But  thou  wilt  be  an  American  truly,"  sighed  Ma 
dame  Renaud. 

There  was  still  a  great  prejudice  against  the  Illinois 
people.  Their  religion,  or,  rather,  lack  of  religion,  was 


306       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

a  great  stumbling-block.  Then  their  roaming  lives, 
their  apparent  disregard  of  home  ties,  that  were  so 
strong  with  the  French. 

But  monsieur  adored  her  in  a  very  complimentary 
fashion,  and  she  was  fain  to  satisfy  her  heart  with  it. 
Sometimes  when  the  red-gold  splendors  were  fading 
from  the  sky,  leaving  the  bluffs  and  pearl-gray  spaces 
on  the  opposite  side  like  long  avenues  where  the  light 
shone  through,  Barbe  Menard  would  glance  over  and 
wonder  what  particular  merit  there  was  in  Renee  de 
Longueville  that  the  good  God  should  have  given  so 
much  to  her. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

FROM  ACROSS  THE  SEA. 

IN  the  second  year  after  Renee's  return  two  signal 
events  happened.  A  new  little  boy  was  born.  She 
had  coveted  a  girl  for  Papa  Gaspard  to  love  as  he  had 
loved  her,  but  one  had  to  be  content  with  what  God 
sent,  and  the  boy  was  bright  and  strong. 

"No,"  Papa  Gaspard  said  when  they  were  talking 
it  over  one  day,  "there  will  be  plenty  of  time  for  girls. 
I  am  not  sorry.  But  I  shall  ask  a  gift  of  you  and  An 
dre,  now  that  little  Gaspard's  place  is  filled.  Give  him 
to  me.  Let  him  take  my  name.  It  would  be  a  grief 
to  me  to  have  it  die  out.  Let  there  be  a  new  Gaspard 
Denys  growing  up  into  a  brave  boy,  a  good,  upright 
man,  we  hope.  You  have  your  fortune  and  Andre  will 
make  another.  There  will  be  enough  to  keep  a  dozen 
children  from  starving,"  with  a  bright,  amused  laugh. 
"I  will  make  a  new  will  and  give  the  boy  what  I  have 
left.  The  lead  interest  is  increasing  and  will  be  a  for 
tune  by  itself.  So  if  you  and  Andre  consent.  It  is 
not  as  if  I  wanted  to  take  him  away ;  it  is  simply  that 
he  shall  be  Gaspard  Denys.  In  the  old  time  they  put 
a  St.  to  it,  but  that  was  in  France.  We  are  going  to 
be  a  new  people." 

"Oh,  Uncle  Gaspard!"  and  she  hid  her  face  on  his 
breast,  while  her  arms  went  around  his  neck.  The 
best  out  of  my  life  is  hardly  good  enough  for  you.  I 
give  you  my  boy  with  my  whole  heart." 

Andre  Valbonais  said  the  same  thing.     So  the  Gov- 


308       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

ernor  and  the  priest  settled  all  the  legal  points,  and  this, 
with  the  certificate  of  his  birth  and  baptism  and  the 
will  of  his  godfather,  Gaspard  Denys,  were  locked  up 
in  a  strong  box  for  any  time  that  they  might  be  needed. 

A  bright,  sturdy  little  fellow  was  Gaspard,  extrava 
gantly  fond  of  his  grandfather  and  his  constant  com 
panion.  He  had  his  mother's  soft  brown  eyes  and  her 
curly  hair. 

One  afternoon  when  the  sun  had  lain  warm  and 
golden  all  about,  Renee  Valbonais  sat  sewing  on  the 
wide  porch  that  had  been  pushed  out  large  enough  for 
a  room.  Overhead  and  at  the  sides  it  was  a  cluster  of 
vines  and  blossoming  things  that  shook  out  fragrance 
with  every  waft  of  wind.  The  baby  was  tumbling 
about  and  chattering  in  both  French  and  Spanish,  for 
he  picked  up  words  easily.  Sheba,  the  nurse,  and 
Chloe  were  just  outside  in  the  garden.  Mere  Lunde 
was  napping  in  her  easy-chair.  It  was  a  pretty  picture 
of  comfort. 

Renee  merely  glanced  up  as  a  young  man  entered  the 
gate  and  looked  about  him  with  a  touch  of  uncertainty. 
Some  message  from  her  husband,  doubtless.  It  was 
so  tranquil  they  might  go  out  in  the  canoe.  He  came 
up  slowly  and  then  paused,  glanced  hesitatingly  at  her, 
taking  off  his  cap  and  bowing.  His  attire  was  well 
worn,  but  different  from  the  common  habiliments.  His 
figure  and  air  was  that  of  the  cities — she  had  seen  such 
young  men  in  New  Orleans. 

"Is  it — Madame  Valbonais?"  he  asked. 

The  voice  was  cultured  and  with  a  peculiar  richness. 
The  hand  that  held  the  cap  was  slim  and  white  as  a 
girl's.  His  complexion  was  clear,  with  the  faintest 
suggestion  of  olive,  but  rather  pale,  though  the  warmth 
had  given  a  tint  of  color  to  the  cheeks. 


FROM  ACROSS  THE  SEA  309 

"I  am  Madame  Valbonais,"  gently  inclining  her  head 
with  a  charming  graciousness. 

"And  a  De  Longueville  by  birth  ?" 

The  accent  was  such  a  pure  musical  French  that  this 
time  she  smiled  as  she  nodded. 

"You  do  not  know — at  least  you  may  not  remember, 
but  a  long  while  ago,  it  seems,  you  came  to  Paris  and 
were  being  sent  to  the  New  World,  America.  You 
were  at  the  Hotel  de  Longueville,  and  there  were  two 
little  boys " 

"Oh !"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  dilating  as  a  sudden 
suspicion — knowledge,  indeed — seemed  to  electrify  her. 
"Oh,  you  are — "  and  her  voice  failed. 

"I  am  one  of  the  little  boys,  the  eldest,  Robert  de 
Longueville.  And  my  father  was  your  father  also. 
Mine  is  a  sad  story,  madame,  though  it  began  fair 
enough.  I  have  come  to  the  New  World,  where  I  have 
not  a  friend.  All  I  knew  was  that  you  had  a  grand 
father  in  St.  Louis  and  were  sent  thither.  You  must 
pardon  me,  madame " 

His  voice  broke  a  little  and  his  eyes  were  down 
cast. 

The  good  and  tender  God  had  sent  some  one  to  her  in 
her  hour  of  need.  She,  too,  had  come  a  stranger  to  this 
new  land.  But  she  was  not  old  enough  to  realize  all  the 
desolation. 

Renee  rose  with  gracious  courtesy  and  put  out  her 
hand,  moved  by  her  own  remembrances  as  well  as  his 
loneliness.  He  took  it  and  glanced  up.  She  saw  his 
eyes  were  brimming  with  tears.  His  face  and  manner 
appealed  to  the  tenderest  side  of  her  nature,  and  her 
affection  went  out  at  once. 

'•'There  are  no  words  to  thank  you  for  this  kindliness, 
madame.  I  am  such  a  stranger  to  you,  although  the 


310        A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

same  blood  runs  in  our  veins.     And  I  speak  the  truth. 
Ah.  you  cannot  know " 

"Come  and  be  seated.  You  look  weary.  Chloe,'' 
she  called,  "bring  a  glass  of  wine  and  some  cake." 

Then  she  pushed  a  chair  up  to  the  small  table  and 
put  her  work  in  the  pretty  Indian  basket.  His  eyes  fol 
lowed  the  graceful  form  and  took  in  the  serene,  lovely 
face.  Something  stirred  within  him  that  he  had  never 
known  before.  He  had  a  French  admiration  and  re 
gard  for  his  mother,  but  he  could  have  knelt  and  kissed 
the  hands  of  his  sister. 

Renee  noticed  now  that  his  shoes  were  worn  to  the 
ground.  He  must  have  walked  far. 

"You  came  from  New  Orleans  ?"  she  ventured. 

"Yes.  The  vessel  brought  me  there.  Then  a  boat 
was  coming  up  to  Fort  Chartres.  From  there  I  have 
walked  mostly.  I  am  a  poor  emigre,  madame.  I  will 
not  invade  your  home  under  false  colors.  I  spent  my 
last  sou  to  be  rowed  across  the  river.  But  in  these 
troublous  times  you  must  have  heard  many  sad 
stories." 

"We  are  largely  out  of  the  way.  Yes,  there  have 
been  sad  enough  times  in  France.  And  your  broth 
er " 

"He  decided  to  stay  in  the  monastery,  though  heaven 
only  knows  how  long  that  will  stand.  All  is  terror  and 
wildness,  and  no  one's  life  is  safe.  My  father  was — 
executed " 

"Oh,  how  terrible !"    The  tears  overflowed  her  eyes. 

The  cake  and  wine  came,  and,  after  many  thanks,  he 
sipped  the  wine,  but  the  cakes  he  ate  like  a  hungry  man. 
When  she  would  have  sent  for  more  a  gesture  of  his 
hand  retained  her. 

"I  thank  you  heartily,"  he  said,  with  a  grave  inclina- 


FROM  ACROSS  THE  SEA  311 

tion  of  the  head.  "I  am  such  a  stranger  that  I  ought 
to  prove  my  identity.  I  have  papers " 

"You  may  show  them  to  my  husband.  I  believe  you. 
Why,  I  am  your  half  sister,  but  with  a  whole  heart,  rest 
assured.  Robert  de  Longueville.  Yes,  I  remember 
you  both.  You  were  very  shy,  and  I  think  I  was  very 
much  afraid,"  smiling  as  she  recalled  the  old  impres 
sions  that  seemed  like  a  dream. 

"We  used  to  talk  of  you.  We  never  had  any  sister  of 
our  own.  We  were  sent  to  school,  and  once  a  year 
came  back  to  Paris.  Papa  was  at  court.  I  was  a 
page  for  awhile,  then  I  went  to  a  military  school.  Hon- 
ore  preferred  books  and  a  religious  life.  He  was  very 
sweet  and  gentle,  while  I  liked  life  and  stir  and  ad 
ventures.  I  do  not  think  mamma  quite  approved  Hon- 
ore,  but  she  was  proud  that  I  was  to  be  a 
soldier.  And  then  the  dreadful  times  began  with  the 
mob  which  first  deprived  the  King  of  authority,  and 
then  cast  him  into  prison  with  hundreds  of  others.  Oh, 
it  was  indeed  a  reign  of  terror !" 

"And  your  father?"  in  a  low  tone. 

"They  were  both  cast  into  prison,"  and  his  voice  fell 
a  little.  "My  mother  died  there.  It  would  have  been 
better  if  my  father  had  died  with  her.  The  Commune 
hated  every  vestige  of  royalty,  abolished  titles,  confis 
cated  estates.  And  then  poor  papa  was  one  of  its  vic 
tims.  Our  school  was  broken  up  and  we  were  driven 
into  Paris.  I  don't  know  what  our  fate  would  have 
been,  impressed  in  the  army  of  the  rabble ;  but  I  would 
not  have  fought  for  the  men  who  had  murdered  my 
father.  I  would  have  died  first." 

Renee  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes.  Until  now  it 
seemed  as  if  she  had  never  cared  for  her  father.  Surely 
he  had  expiated  all  mistakes  and  sins  by  his  death. 


312       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

"Then  I  ran  away.  I  found  my  way  to  the  monas 
tery  and  Honore  and  told  them  the  sad  tale.  They 
were  very  kind  and  would  have  kept  me,  but  there  was 
no  knowing  how  long  they  would  be  allowed  their  ref 
uge.  I  resolved  to  escape  to  England,  as  every  week 
or  two  refugees  were  flying  thither.  I  found  my  op 
portunity.  And  there  I  heard  many  things  about  these 
new  United  Colonies.  The  English  are  not  over-cor 
dial  to  them,  but  the  thought  of  a  people  who  had 
fought  seven  years  for  liberty  and  conquered  in  the  face 
of  such  odds  fired  my  heart.  I  resolved  to  come  to 
America.  We  had  never  forgotten  you,  madame,  and 
Honore  wrote  that  if  I  found  you  I  was  to  give  you  his 
love.  He  is  a  sweet,  gentle  fellow  and  will  make  an 
excellent  priest,  if  there  is  any  France  left,"  he  added 
mournfully,  drawing  a  long,  pained  breath. 

She  was  glad  they  had  remembered  her  and  talked 
of  her.  She  raised  her  sweet,  sympathetic  eyes. 

"Then  I  came  to  New  Orleans,  as  I  learned  from 
there  I  could  reach  St.  Louis.  It  is  queer,  but  all  of 
you  on  this  side  of  the  river  are  under  Spanish  domi 
nation,  and  it  is  well  for  you,  perhaps,  even  if  you  are 
French." 

"I  know  so  little  about  it,"  she  replied  gravely,  "only 
that  we  are  proud  of  being  French.  But  the  poor  King 
and  Queen,  and — papa !" 

"Honore  and  I  were  thankful  mamma  died  in  prison, 
though  we  do  not  know  what  she  suffered.  And  that 
is  the  whole  of  the  sad  story,  madame.  I  am  young 
and  can  work  for  my  bread,  surely,  and  it  will  not  be  so 
lonely  since  I  have  found  you." 

Her  tender  heart  went  out  to  him.  "Monsieur  Rob 
ert,"  she  said,  "I  hope  we  shall  be  good  friends.  I  am 
glad  you  came  to  me " 


FROM  ACROSS  THE  SEA  313 

"But  I  do  not  mean  to  be  a  burden  on  you,"  he  sub 
joined  quickly.  "I  still  think  I  should  like  to  be  a 
soldier,  yet  I  have  a  fair  education  and  I  can  make  my 
living  at  something." 

In  the  light  of  the  luxury  of  Paris  all  through  his 
childhood,  so  differently  aspected  from  this,  he  gath 
ered  that  his  sister  was  far  from  rich ;  but  even  if  she 
had  been,  he  had  not  meant  to  ask  help  from  her. 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  pride  in  the  De  Longueville 
blood.  He  had  not  come  as  a  suppliant  for  anything 
but  love.  She  liked  him  none  the  worse  for  it.  Then 
glancing  up,  she  saw  Uncle  Gaspard  and  her  child  in 
the  street. 

"Excuse  my  absence  a  few  moments  and  go  on  with 
your  rest,  for  you  look  weary  enough.  Chloe,  bring 
some  more  wine  and  cake." 

Then  she  glided  down  the  path  and  met  them  at  the 
gateway.  Her  face  was  flushed,  her  eyes  deep  and  full 
of  emotion. 

"Come  here  in  the  little  arbor,"  she  cried.  "A 
strange  thing  has  happened  to  me.  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
been  reading  it  in  a  book,  but  it  is  all  true.  I  hardly 
know  where  to  begin.  And,  Uncle  Gaspard,  you  must 
be  kind  and  merciful,  and  forgive  my  father  for  his 
neglect.  He  is  dead.  He  was  one  of  the  victims  of 
that  awful  revolution  because  he  was  faithful  to  his 
King." 

"Renee,  child,  do  not  give  way  to  such  excitement. 
"The  grave  covers  all.  We  do  not  carry  our  grudges 
beyond  it.  And  if  he  had  loved  you,  you  would  never 
have  come  to  me  and  I  should  have  lost  much,  much !" 
And,  picking  up  little  Gaspard,  he  kissed  him  fondly 
and  lifted  him  to  his  shoulder. 

"Yes,  I  knew  you  would  forgive,  you  are  so  gen- 


314       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

erous.  And" — she  caught  his  free  hand — "my  brother, 
who  has  fled  from  those  horrible  scenes,  who  has  lost 
both  parents,  has  emigrated  and  is  here — found  me 
after  some  searching.  Life  has  gone  hardly  with 
him." 

"Count  de  Longueville's  son !"  The  lines  of  Gas- 
pard  Denys's  face  hardened,  his  eyes  grew  stern. 

"Think  of  him  as  my  brother  only,"  she  pleaded. 
"We  are  to  be  kindly  disposed  to  our  enemies  even. 
And,  as  you  say,  if  he  had  been  a  fond  father  to  me  you 
would  never  have  had  me  or  little  Gaspard.  I  think 
Robert  will  soon  go  away  again.  He  has  been  partly 
bred  for  a  soldier.  And  we  ought  not  visit  on  him 
any  sin  of  his  father.  That  is  left  for  God." 

"True."  It  was  gravely  said,  but  not  cordially.  "Let 
us  see  what  the  young  man  is  like.  Renee,  he  never 
shall  be  any  trouble  to  you." 

"Oh,  you  will  feel  so  sorry  for  him  presently." 

They  walked  to  the  porch — gallery,  as  every  one 
called  it.  The  young  fellow  had  finished  his  food  and 
wine  again.  He  had  eaten  nothing  since  morning.  He 
looked  a  little  rested,  but  his  eyes  had  a  questioning 
glance. 

He  was  not  quite  what  Gaspard  had  looked  for  in  a 
De  Longueville.  Barely  medium  size,  though  he  was 
not  yet  twenty,  refined  and  with  a  quiet  dignity,  he 
rather  disarmed  the  critical  eyes,  and  Gaspard  experi 
enced  a  touch  of  sympathy  for  him.  Renee  made  him 
tell  his  pathetic  story  over  again,  which  he  did  modestly 
enough.  And  when  he  would  have  gone,  though 
whither  he  knew  not,  Denys  bade  him  stay.  There 
were  no  inns  in  the  town. 

He  won  Andre  as  well  before  the  evening  was  over. 
And  when  they  found  he  had  no  plans,  only  a  vague 


FROM  ACROSS  THE  SEA  315 

desire  to  offer  his  services  to  the  new  government  that 
in  other  days  had  aroused  such  an  interest  in  France, 
they  bade  him  remain  with  them.  He  had  both  seen 
and  heard  the  Marquis  de  Lafayette  after  his  return 
to  France,  when  he  had  been  full  of  enthusiasm  for  the 
new  people. 

''But,  Monsieur  Robert,  you  are  French,"  said  An 
dre.  "And  in  the  turns  of  fate  we  may  some  day  have 
a  French  country  here.  Anyhow,  a  man  may  earn  his 
bread ;  and  from  what  I  hear,  the  colonies  are  not  over 
stocked  with  prosperity.  Better  wait  awhile  and  cast 
in  your  lot  with  us." 

Robert  de  Longueville  was  very  glad  to.  He  thought 
of  the  Reign  of  Terror  with  a  shudder,  and  often  won 
dered  about  Honore,  hearing  at  last  that  he  was  safe 
in  an  outlying  district  of  northern  France. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

A  NEW  ST.  LOUIS. 

ONCE  again  the  French  flag  waved  over  St.  Louis 
and  hearts  beat  high  with  joy.  Not  that  they  had  been 
unhappy  or  discontented  under  the  Spanish  regime, 
though  the  place  had  remained  stationery.  Except  for 
the  fur  trade  and  the  energies  of  the  house  of  Maxent 
Laclede  &  Co.  with  their  entrepot,  it  would  still  have 
been  a  little  French  hamlet.  Even  now  it  had  scarcely 
two  hundred  buildings  and  less  than  a  thousand  in 
habitants.  Yet  perhaps  few  places  could  boast  of  forty 
years  of  content  and  happiness  and  such  peaceful  living. 

"So  down  came  the  Spanish  flag  and  up  went  the 
lilies  of  France.  There  was  a  night  of  rejoicing.  Peo 
ple  scarcely  went  to  bed.  Fiddles  and  flutes  played 
old  French  airs,  and  songs  were  sung ;  but,  after  all,  the 
people  were  decorous  and  there  was  no  orgie.  Most 
of  these  men  had  never  known  Parisian  enthusiasm. 
Robert  de  Longueville  marvelled  at  it  and  the  sim 
plicity. 

It  was  well,  perhaps,  to  have  had  those  few  hours  oi 
jubilation  for  men  to  talk  about  in  their  old  age.  For 
the  next  day  a  company  came  over  from  the  fort  and 
held  a  consultation  with  Lieutenant-Governor  Dellas- 
sus.  And  then  the  royal  lilies  came  down  slowly, 
sadly,  it  seemed,  and  men's  hearts  beat  with  sudden 
apprehension.  What  did  it  mean?  They  gathered  in 
little  knots  and  their  faces  were  blanched. 

Captain    Stoddard    raised    the    new    colors — broad 


A  NEW  ST.  LOUIS  317 

bands  of  red  and  white  and  thirteen  stars  on  a  blue 
field.  The  brave  colonies  had  taken  another  leap  and 
crossed  the  Mississippi.  Here  at  the  old  Spanish  quar 
ters,  March,  1804,  the  last  vestige  of  hope  fluttered 
and  died  in  the  French  heart.  The  breeze  caught  the 
flag  and  flung  it  out  and  a  few  cheers  went  up,  but 
they  were  from  the  Americans,  and  the  salutes  even  had 
a  melancholy  sound. 

"St.  Louis,"  said  some  one.  "Will  they  take  away 
the  name,  too?  Are  we  to  be  orphans?" 

Others  wept.  Some  of  the  better  informed  tried  to 
explain,  but  it  was  half-heartedly.  No  one  was  certain 
of  what  was  to  come.  These  conquerors,  yes,  they 
were  that,  spoke  a  different  tongue,  had  a  different  re 
ligion,  were  aggressive,  a  resistless  power  that  might 
sweep  them  beyond  the  mountains. 

There  was  no  rejoicing  that  night.  There  were  no 
cabarets  in  which  men  could  drink  and  discuss  the 
change.  They  went  to  each  other's  houses  and  sat 
moodily  by  firesides.  Old  St.  Louis  was  lost  to  them 
and  hearts  were  very  heavy. 

Spain  had  ceded  the  whole  of  Louisiana  to  France, 
and  again  France  had  sold  her  desirable  possession. 
Napoleon,  hating  the  English  and  wanting  the  money  to 
carry  on  his  war  against  them,  had  bargained  with  the 
United  States.  All  the  great  country  lying  west 
ward  no  one  knew  how  far.  And  the  mighty  river  was 
free  from  troublesome  complications. 

Yes,  old  St.  Louis  was  gone.  There  was  something 
new  in  the  very  air,  an  energy  where  there  had  been  a 
leisurely  aspect ;  a  certain  roughness  instead  of  simplic 
ity,  pioneer  life.  No  avalanche  swept  over  them,  but 
people  came  from  the  other  side  of  the  river,  stalwart 
boatmen,  stalwart  hunters,  with  new  and  far-reaching 


318       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

ideas.  Schools,  poor  enough  at  first,  but  teaching  some 
thing  besides  the  catechism  and  a  little  arithmetic. 
There  were  books  to  read,  discoveries  to  make,  mines 
to  unearth,  more  profitable  ways  of  labor.  The  old 
slow  method  of  work  in  the  salt  licks  was  improved 
upon,  as  well  as  that  of  the  lead  mines.  Upper  Louisi 
ana  held  in  its  borders  some  of  the  great  wealth  of  the 
world.  Spanish  language  dropped  out,  French  be 
gan  to  be  a  good  deal  mixed,  and  men  found  it  to  their 
advantage  to  learn  English.  The  stockade  and  the 
round  towers  dropped  down,  and  no  one  repaired 
them,  because  the  town  was  going  to  stretch 
out.  New  houses  were  built,  but  many  of  them 
seemed  as  queer  at  a  later  date,  with  their  sec 
ond-floor  galleries  approached  by  a  stairs  from  the 
outside.  The  high-peaked  roofs  with  their  perky  win 
dows  looked  down  on  the  old  one- story  houses  of  split 
logs  and  plaster.  Laclede's  town,  about  a  mile  long, 
was  old  enough  to  have  legends  growing  about  it  when 
men  sat  out  on  stoops  and  smoked  their  pipes. 

Yet  there  was  enough  of  the  past  left  to  still  afford 
content  and  romance.  Robert  de  Longueville  proved 
himself  a  capable  young  fellow  and  turned  his  past 
education  to  some  account.  He  had  a  truly  French 
adoration  for  his  half  sister  that  presently  won  quite  a 
regard  from  Gaspard  Denys. 

Robert  was  fascinated  as  well  with  the  half  Indian 
wife  of  M.  Marchand,  and  never  tired  of  the  wild 
legends  of  fur  hunting  and  life  up  at  the  strait.  Then 
the  ten  children  were  a  great  source  of  interest  as  well. 
There  were  only  two  girls  among  them,  the  boys  grow 
ing  up  tall,  strong  and  fine-looking,  proud  of  their 
mother,  who  kept  curiously  young  and  occasionally  put 
on  all  her  Indian  finery  for  their  amusement 


A  NEW  ST.  LOUIS  319 

Renee  was  quite  fair  and  rather  petite,  and  with  such 
shining  eyes  they  often  called  her  Firefly.  Then  Rob 
ert  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  there  was  another  Renee 
de  Longueville  to  hand  down  the  name,  and  very  proud 
felt  Renee  Valbonais  of  the  fact. 

The  little  old  church  was  partly  rebuilt  in  the  repair 
ing,  and  was  turned  about.  Then  many  years  after 
ward  it  became  the  French  Cathedral  on  Walnut  Street. 
The  high,  stiff  pews  savor  of  olden  time.  There  are 
still  several  paintings  in  it,  one  very  fine,  sent  by  Louis, 
the  King  of  France.  And  there  are  the  inscriptions 
in  four  languages,  two  modern  and  two  ancient. 

When  Renee  Valbonais  knelt  in  her  pew  at  the  con 
secration  her  face  was  still  sweet,  her  eyes  brown,  soft 
and  smiling,  but  the  hair  curling  about  her  forehead 
was  snowy  white.  On  this  spot  she  had  prayed  for 
Uncle  Gaspard's  safe  return,  then  she  had  prayed  to  be 
made  willing  to  give  him  up  if  it  was  for  his  happiness. 
Now  she  had  very  little  to  pray  for,  so  many  blessings 
had  been  showered  upon  her  by  the  good  God.  So  her 
heart  was  all  one  great  thanksgiving,  and  she  felt  that 
at  the  last  she  could  "depart  in  peace." 

When  it  was  set  off  from  Louisiana,  when  it  be 
came  a  Territory  and  then  a  State,  St.  Louis  remained 
the  capital.  Brick  and  finished  frame  houses  were 
built,  stores  and  factories,  a  newspaper  started,  a  steam 
boat  came  up  the  river,  and  that  revolutionized  the 
trade. 

Then  it  was  to  change  curiously  again.  The  Ameri 
cans  had  nearly  superseded  the  French.  Some  of  them 
went  to  the  towns  below,  intermarriages  became  com 
mon  as  the  prejudices  died  away.  Then  there  was  a 
great  German  emigration.  The  failure  of  patriotic 
hopes  at  home  in  the  Old  World  sent  many  across  to 


320       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

the  New  World.  They  were  of  the  better  class,  edu 
cated,  energetic  and  earnest  for  freedom  of  thought. 
Again  in  1849  tney  were  largely  recruited  after  another 
unsuccessful  revolution. 

Eighty-three  years  after  the  founding  of  the  town 
they  held  a  grand  celebration.  Only  one  member  of 
Pierre  Laclede  Liquist's  company,  who  had  planted 
and  named  the  town,  was  living.  This  was  the  presi 
dent  of  the  day,  Pierre  Chouteau.  The  fine  old  ma- 
dame,  who  had  gloried  in  her  brave  sons,  had  passed 
to  the  other  country.  Four  mounted  Indians  in  full 
costume  were  the  bodyguard  of  the  venerable  president, 
and  in  the  carriages  were  a  few  withered- up,  brown- 
faced  Frenchmen,  who  had  made  themselves  log  houses 
along  those  early  years  and  lived  their  simple  lives, 
raised  their  families,  danced  in  the  merry-makings  and 
now  felt  almost  like  aliens. 

Gaspard  Denys,  still  hale  and  hearty,  was  among 
them,  past  eighty,  but  clear  of  eye  and  steady  of  step. 
He  had  seen  his  godson,  young  Gaspard,  grow  up  into 
a  fine,  manly  fellow,  marry  a  sweet  girl  and  have  sons 
to  carry  on  the  name.  What  more  could  a  man  ask 
than  a  well-used  life  and  a  certain  share  of  happiness? 
But  they  had  gone  back  on  the  next  rise  of  ground,  for 
business  had  seized  with  its  inexorable  grasp  on  the  old 
home  where  Renee  had  sat  and  dreamed  beside  the 
great  chimney  and  Mere  Lunde  had  nodded. 

Way  out  to  the  side  of  the  old  pond  they  had  gone, 
where  there  was  still  a  forest  on  one  side  of  them. 
Great  hickories,  pecans,  trees  useful  for  food  and  fuel 
and  building  houses,  long  reaches  of  tangled  grapes 
that  made  all  the  air  sweet  at  their  blossoming  and 
again  at  their  ripening,  fields  and  meadows,  the  gar 
den  near  by,  the  house  with  great  porches,  a  wide  hall 


A  NEW  ST.  LOUIS  321 

and  beautiful  stairway,  with  no  need  of  outside  climb 
ing. 

"Here  we  will  end  our  days,"  Gaspard  Denys  said  to 
the  child  of  the  woman  he  still  dreamed  about,  more 
vividly,  perhaps,  now  than  at  middle  life.  For  there 
was  the  wide  stone  chimney,  the  great  corners  in  the 
fireplace.  Sometimes  on  a  winter  night  they  stood  a 
pine  torch  in  the  corner,  and  it  gave  the  weird,  flicker 
ing  light  they  used  to  love. 

Across  the  hall  would  be  young  people  dancing.  But 
there  was  no  more  Guinolee,  no  more  anxious,  eager 
crowds  to  see  who  would  get  the  beans  in  the  cake,  no 
strife  to  be  queens,  no  anxiety  to  be  chosen  kings ;  that, 
with  other  old  things,  had  passed  away. 

"I  wonder,"  Renee  says,  smiling  absently,  "if  they 
have  as  good  times  as  they  used  to  in  old  St.  Louis? 
There  are  so  many  pleasures  now." 

No  one  goes  round  on  New  Year's  Eve  singing 
songs,  saying,  "Good-night,  master;  good-night,  mis 
tress.  I  wish  you  great  joy  and  good  luck." 

And  this  was  to  be  all  swept  away  by  the  imperious 
demand  of  the  growing  city ;  but  it  was  true  then  that 
Renee  and  Andre  Valbonais  and  Gaspard  Denys  had 
gone  to  that  country  which  is  never  to  know  any  change, 
for  God  is  in  the  midst  of  it. 

Before  the  century  was  half  gone  the  dream  of  the 
old  explorers  had  come  true,  and  many  a  new  explorer 
gave  up  his  life,  as  well  as  De  Soto  and  La  Salle.  For 
out  on  the  western  coasts,  over  mountain  fastnesses, 
through  gorges  and  beyond  the  Mississippi  thousands 
of  miles  lay  the  land  of  gold ;  lay,  too,  a  new  road  to 
India.  Out  and  out  on  the  high  ground  has  stretched 
the  great  city.  The  old  mill  and  the  queer  winding 
pond  went  long  ago.  The  Chouteau  house,  where 


3  «       A  LITTLE  GIRL  IN  OLD  ST.  LOUIS 

there  were  many  gatherings  both  grave  and  gay  of  the 
older  people,  is  the  Merchants'  Exchange.  Here  and 
there  a  place  is  marked  by  some  memento.  But  when 
you  see  the  little  old  map  with  its  Rue  this  and  that, 
one  smiles  and  contrasts  its  small  levee  with  the  twenty 
or  more  miles  of  water  front,  kept,  too,  within  bounds, 
bridged  over  magnificently.  And  if  its  traders 
are  not  as  picturesque  as  Indians  and  voyageurs  and 
trappers  in  their  different  attire,  they  still  seem  from 
almost  every  nation. 

Most  of  the  French  have  gone.  There  is  no  ex 
clusive  French  circle,  as  in  New  Orleans.  Here  and 
there  a  family  is  proud  to  trace  back  its  ancestry  and 
keep  alive  the  old  tongue.  But  the  old  houses  have  dis 
appeared  as  well.  Sometimes  one  finds  one  of  the  sec 
ond  decade,  with  its  gable  windows  jutting  out  of  the 
peaked  roof,  and  one  waits  to  see  a  brown,  dried-up, 
wrinkled  face  in  French  coif  and  gay  shoulder  shawl 
peering  out,  but  it  is  only  a  dream. 

And  surely  the  Germans  earned  their  birthright 
with  the  loyalty  of  those  days  when  the  whole  country 
was  rent  with  the  throes  of  civil  war.  There  was  a  de 
lightful,  friendly,  well-bred  class  of  planters  from  the 
middle  Southern  States,  who  had  lovely  homes  in  and 
about  the  town,  and  who  clung  to  their  traditions,  the 
system  of  slavery  being  more  to  them  than  a  united 
country.  But  the  patriotism  of  these  adopted  citizens, 
who  had  learned  many  wise  lessons  at  a  high  price,  was 
a  wall  against  which  the  forces  threw  themselves  to  de 
feat,  and  again  the  everlasting  truth  conquered. 

The  youth  of  cities  is  the  childhood  of  maturer  pur 
poses,  knowledge,  experience.  Each  brings  with  it  the 
traditions  of  race,  of  surroundings,  to  outgrow  them 
later  on.  Does  one  really  sigh  for  the  past,  looking  at 


A  NEW  ST.  LOUIS  323 

the  present?  At  the  towns  and  cities  and  the  wealth- 
producing  inventions,  where  the  silence  of  the  wilder 
ness  reigned  a  hundred  years  ago,  or  broken  only  by 
the  wild  animals  that  ranged  in  their  depths,  and  here 
and  there  an  Indian  lodge?  And  the  new  race,  born 
of  many  others,  proud,  generous,  courageous,  men  of 
breadth  and  foresight,  who  have  bridged  streams  and 
hewn  down  mountains,  made  the  solitary  gorges  famil 
iar  pictures  to  thousands,  and  have  had  their  wise  and 
earnest  opinions  moulded  into  public  wisdom  and  use 
fulness,  mothers  who  have  added  sweetness  and  whole 
some  nurture  and  refined  daily  living,  children  grow 
ing  up  to  transform  the  beautiful  city  again,  perhaps, 
though  as  one  walks  its  splendid  streets  one  wonders 
if  there  is  any  better  thing  to  come,  if  the  genius  of 
man  can  devise  more  worthiness. 

The  new  white  city  may  answer  it  to  the  countless 
thousands  who  will  come  from  all  the  quarters  of  the 
globe. 

But  the  Little  Girl  and  Old  St.  Louis  had  their  happy 
day  and  are  garnered  among  the  memories  of  the  past. 


THE   END. 


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in  old  St. 
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